


Someday, My Prince Will Come

by lunaverserocks



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: And he does some messed up things, And its effects on others, Everything Changed When The Fire Nation Attacked, F/M, Fire Nation Perspective, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Iroh (Avatar) loves Tea, Like, Original Character(s), Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture, Rape, Sexual Slavery, War, Zhao (Avatar) Is An Asshole, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, and, and a hot-headed teenager, go through some pretty traumatic stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-19 14:08:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 68,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20658494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunaverserocks/pseuds/lunaverserocks
Summary: The girl in Zhao's quarters has always been a secret. An enigma of sorts. And for thirteen years, he’s kept her quiet and sated, using her however and whenever he desires. According to him, she's well-cared for.But that doesn't mean she's...happy.





	1. Running Away

**Prologue**

Children tend to play with anything, even when they’re only gifted with the essentials—or, more times than not, nothing.

If a child is imaginative enough, simple basics mutate into fascinating toys and props. Blankets transform into moats of swirling, rippling water, wrapped around cups that pierce through the sky like tall towers. Pillows morph into a variety of snow-capped mountains speckled with stacks of paper-crafted houses. Hands become workable people, complete with movable, finger-length legs (which always prompts giggles).

Aboard a Fire Nation ship, a little girl sat on a steel floor, playing with her own blanket, cup, pillow, paper, and fingers; she wasn’t very different from the rest of the impoverished children across the world. But in more ways than one, she was.

Because she dared to dream, dared to live outside the room where she was held captive. She dared to play—to imagine. And as she played—noiseless because her master preferred her to be quiet—she fantasized about herself in another life. A life where a young prince took her away from her fire-breathing captor and blessed her with happiness and smiles and genuine laughs. With friendship and kindness. Love and acceptance. Encouragement.

Her small mouth opened and soundless words spread across her lips. Fingers flailed; one brandishing a scrap of fabric—a handkerchief flitting up and down—while another paced, nervous but ready to face the beast hoarding his beloved.

_"I'll come for you, Princess!"_

More handkerchief flits, desperate for release. _"Oh, my sweet prince, please rescue me! Please save me from this fate!"_

_"Hold on, Princess! I must slay the beast guarding your tower!"_ A whoosh of a finger sword as a shadow loomed beyond the pillow-shaped mountains.

A snarl and puff of smoke—the dragon.

Frantic pleads and more flits, a warning. _"Oh, please! Hurry!"_

Her play was trivial and exaggerated, but it was one of her favorite scenarios to reenact. Excitement poured through her silent words as the battle began. A restless fight where the prince fought with honor and courage, cunning and skill. Where he parried and vaulted, pounced and charged, and narrowly avoided his fire-breathing foe as he swished his sword.

_“RAAWWWWRRR!!!” _And the dragon fell to its death, innards pouring out of the wound on its neck. “_Splat, splat, splat!”_

Fatigued from her excitement and finished with her scene, the little girl sat on her feet and sighed.

Visions of crimson swirls danced in her imagination and she stuck out her tongue and swiped the imaginary blood out and away until it was gone, gone, gone into unkempt piles beyond her reach.

She hugged herself. One, two, three seconds until her mind cleared.

Her play didn’t used to be so violent, so covered in sticky red splotches (even if it wasn’t real). The dragon didn’t originally die.

Long ago, it was knocked out or confused. Or it eventually gave up its prize, realizing how miserable the princess was in its care. And that’s how she liked it—that’s how the story should've ended. But it hadn’t ended that way for a long while.

She sighed again, high-pitched yet filled with despair.

Her playtime used to be frilly and filled with mythical creatures. With snowflakes and endless forests. With victories won through wit, not brawn. With foes who relented, who realized their wrongs and changed their ways. It used to be filled with her mother’s epic tales and her father’s fantastic adventures—stories they used to tell her when she fought them before bed, when she became fitful and suddenly restless. Ready for one of their legends and eager for the dreams they created.

But those times were gone. Those times had passed.

Especially after the day when her master had gripped her forearm and side too hard and left behind enormous, blue-tinted bruises. When he'd crushed her fingers and made it difficult for her to move her finger-legged people.

And after her skin had darkened into a rich purple, the foe of her play met a more gruesome demise. Slain, killed, overpowered. Insides spewing as the prince and princess ran beyond the confines of the Dragon’s Keep.

From that day on, the prince always slayed the monster. Always swept the princess into his imaginary arms and took her back to his palace, where he kept her safe. Where he loved and cherished her, for forever and ever.

The girl paused and bit her lip and imagined the glorious ending of the make-believe prince and princess. Sadness overcame her and she sniffled. Then she rubbed at her eyes until her errant tears wore away.

Would her prince ever come? Would she ever get her happy ending?

The door _screeched _open and her master walked in, grumbling about his day. Telling her every little detail and expecting her to nod and acknowledge him. To feel remorse for him as he told her about Captain Lee and his lackluster response to one of his suggestions. To feel angry when somebody supposedly inferior suggested the same thing, only to be met with a more positive response. To feel happy when he eventually received the credit that was due.

She piled up her makeshift toys and nodded her head at just the right times, softly muttering, “_Oh my, Master,_” and, _“How cruel, Master,_” and, “_You should get a promotion, Master_,” as he rambled.

He eventually quieted, smiled, and patted her head. And when he let go, his callous fingers crept under her chin and lifted her head high so he could stare into her eyes. Her gold and his hazel locked and he squeezed her cheeks until he forced her teeth apart.

“Clean up your mess,” he spat as he shoved her backward.

She did. Immediately.

And as she finished putting away her meager possessions (items otherwise not considered _hers_, for nothing in the room belonged to her; _everything _was _his_—herself included), she thought.

_I’m not a princess. _A frown, sad and knowing. _Nobody knows where I am. Nobody’s coming. _She pushed a chunk of black hair behind her ear.

_I’ll need to save myself…eventually. _

Assuming he kept her alive long enough for that to be a possibility.

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

**Thirteen Years Later**

Trees, bushes, thickets of unidentifiable brush. Everything was a brown-green blur disappearing beyond her vision as she raced forward. _Faster, faster, faster!_

She pushed forward, flailing her black-covered legs outward and down. _Stomp, stomp, stomp. _Quieter, lest he find her. _Crunch, crunch, crunch. _

Her muscles cramped and she wanted to heave. But there wasn't time to stop and wasn't time to slow down. So she swiped her arms and pushed aside rustling leaves.

Animals popped out, curious and sniffing. They scurried underfoot, then disappeared beyond her view and fled into their wooded homes. Safe. Secure.

Her legs weakened and her fingers bled. And soon, gasping heaves filled the air with cloudy bursts.

She paused for a moment to catch her breath and wrapped her arms around the trunk of a tree for support.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

_Weeeeeee!_

A shrill whistle echoed through the forest. A shout, nearly unintelligible from so far away, but tone easy to distinguish. Angry, enraged, royally pissed. Barked orders and a group response, “_Yes, sir!_”

“Too long,” she whispered before releasing her tree. She’d been still for too long; he’d find her soon.

So she broke into another sprint, tore through more and more branches, trailing a thin line of blood as thorns continued to puncture her fingers.

Tears prickled the corners of her eyes. Not from the pain in her fingers or the exhaustion in her legs, but from the thought of returning. Of being caught. Of being drug, kicking and screaming, back to that room. Back to _his _room.

If he caught her (like he had so many times before), he’d concoct a vile punishment—whip her, chain her to a wall, starve her—for however long he wanted until she relented (again), until she pleaded for him to stop (again), until she promised she would be a good girl, listen to whatever he wanted, do whatever he wanted. Again, again, again.

She ran and ran but eventually stopped and looked skyward. She needed the sun, needed to see it for its directional guidance, to tell her that she was going the right way. North. North to Omashu. North to Ba Sing Se. North to get away. From _him. _From the Fire Nation. From the future she couldn’t stand to think about.

“Hey! You!”

A soldier had already caught up to her. All she could see was his skull-like face-plate filling a rare void between the trees. A sea of green destroyed by a white demonic mask, devoid of emotion or personality. Something to elicit terror from his enemies. From the Earth Kingdom. From the Water Tribe. From her.

He crept through the brambles. “Stay there!”

She fled. _Stomp, stomp, stomp. _Through another copse, past another ticket of curious animals, noses tilted toward her, sniffing her panic.

An uplifted root caught her foot, tripping her and making her tumble. _Tuck and roll, tuck and roll, _her mind screamed. But her body had a mind of its own. It fell and collapsed in on itself. Her face met the dirt and she breathed in the earth, breathed in the scent of must and moss, of scat and mold. She coughed. Started to rise—

“Got you!”

A uniformed body fell on top of her and held her down as she flailed and kicked. She sputtered and cried out. In pain, in anguish. In frustration. “Let me go! Let me go! Let me go! _Let me **go**!_”

The soldier heaved her up, making sure to keep her arms locked behind her back. And even though she was panting, she smirked and kicked backward and unleashed a controlled wall of flames in his direction with her feet.

He let go with a yelp. Then cursed when she broke through a thick wall of greenery.

_Run, run, run, _she said inside her head. _Go, go, go. _

More trees flitted by, waving in the breeze. But she couldn’t wave back and couldn’t respond in any way other than push their swaying branches aside, huffing and puffing as she fled.

Adrenaline filled her veins and fueled her drive. Made her run faster and farther than she ever had before.

She looked up without breaking her stride and squinted through a blanket of leaves. _No sun. _And it made her panic.

She stopped. She looked around—right, left, forward, backward (_nobody, thank Agni)—_ then looked up. Squinted.

A panting, crippling sigh resounded. She’d have to climb a tree to see the sun.

But climbing took time; took valuable, running-away time. But she considered it. She swayed back and forth for a moment before taking off again, guessing at the direction. _North, _she prayed, _please be north._

She broke through a clearing with her arms and legs weakened and quaking. And to stop her jitters, she put her hands on her knees and took in a refreshing breath. Then looked around.

The clearing was beautiful; filled with a variety of capped flowers swaying their hellos to passerby. It looked inviting and welcoming and all too peaceful in an era of unbridled turmoil, a century of pure hate. Pinks, oranges, greens, and purples. Multi-colored blossoms of all different species. Tiger lilies, violets, tulips and buttercups. Wild roses, daffodils, daisies and—

A splotch of red.

Her eyes widened.

_Him._

_He_ was standing there. Arms behind his back and a smug smile on his face. Not tired, not looking like he ran a great distance to track her down.

“There you are,” he said.

She turned half-way to the right, aiming to run again. But he tutted a harsh tongue-click at her. A warning. A near-silent _don’t do that_.

So she didn’t. Against her better judgement, she didn’t.

“That’s right,” he said, gloating, stepping closer. “That’s right.”

He trekked half the distance between them and cocked his head. “So, _Koori_,” he said, glaring now, purring out her name like he wasn’t upset. Humming her name like they were completely alone in his quarters. “I’d like to know _why _you decided to run.”

She clamped her lips closed and didn’t answer. Her breath come out as strangled heaves through her nose.

He took a step forward. She took a step backward.

“Was it because of me?” He took another step forward. She took another step backward. “I’m guessing so,” he said. Another smirk, menacing and evil. Filled with all of the punishments he was already planning. “And so you _ran away_.” He tutted again. “Not smart, Koori. Not smart.”

“I-I had to,” she whimpered, hugging herself with trembling arms.

He snorted, then continued. “And where were you going to go?” he asked. “You have nowhere. No family, no friends. No home.” He smiled. “Just me, your master. The man who graciously takes care of you. Who feeds you when you’d otherwise go hungry. Who gives you a bed when you’d otherwise have a dirt floor. Who shields you with four walls and a ceiling when you’d otherwise have _nothing._”

She whimpered again. Stepped backward again.

“So you ran.”

One more step backward, into the line of trees surrounding the clearing.

“And here you are now. Caught. Trembling. Knowing _just _what I’ll do to you when we get back.”

She shook her head. _Not going back, _she told herself. _Can’t go back. Can’t survive going back._

“Don’t you shake your head at me, _girl_.”

She didn’t stop. Couldn’t. She was lost in her head, lost in her master’s words.

And while she was lost, his fists clenched—tight, so tight—and smoke filled the air. Fire came next, dousing the flowers and tall grasses. Filling her vision with nothing but red-hot flames and scorching, burning grasses.

“Look at what you made me do.”

She blinked at the vivid pinks, purples, greens, and blues being overpowered by the red and orange and merciless fire. The smell and heat broke her stupor, made her look at the damage he was causing because of her. Always because of her. And she wanted him to stop. Stop burning the flowers, stop looming closer. Leave her alone, let her flee.

Tears poured down her face and he stepped closer. Closer. She stood in a running stance, ready to go, ready to bolt once more. But her legs were frozen and caught in his gaze and she kept muddling over his words. His threats. His fire.

“Aww,” he said, taking the last step. He reached out and cupped her face. Allowed his thumb to trace over the thin trails of her tears. “Don’t cry, Sweetheart. It won’t be bad.” A cryptic smile spread across his lips. “I promise.”

Koori smacked his hand away and turned around, aiming to sprint. But she quickly found herself tripped and taken to the ground. Then a booted foot pressed tight in the small of her back.

“You’re _hurting _me!” she cried as he lifted her off the grass, off her feet and over his shoulder.

“This pain is the least of your worries. Now quiet.”

She did. And went limp—became dead weight over his shoulder, unable to find the strength to move, protest, or shout. She was caught. Defeated. And he carried her through the forest teeming with soldiers no longer looking for her. And when they finally made it back to the outskirt of the forest, he paused and shuffled her around. Then chucked her to the ground.

“Ooofph.” She landed on her backside and growled.

“Up,” he ordered. “Get up before _I get you up_.”

Koori scrambled to her feet and brushed off her legs. Rubbed them down a fair bit to get blood flowing back to her toes. “Your armor isn’t designed for shoulder travel.”

He cuffed her and she fell to the side, rubbing a now-throbbing cheek. Then she stood back up when he glared. Quickly, lest he hit her again.

“We’ll get your mouth controlled eventually, now, won’t we?”

She bit her quivering bottom lip and nodded. Then tucked a lock of ebony hair behind her ear. “Yes, Master.”

“Good.” He nodded and grabbed her arm. Held her tight. “Now, you’re going to be a good girl as we walk home. No talking, no looking around.” He expected a response, but she gave none. So he squeezed her arm and she hissed. “Your head will be?”

“Down,” she murmured.

“Your eyes will be?”

“Watching the dirt.”

“Your pace will be?”

“Slightly behind yours.”

He let her go. Walked into his tower.

She followed, albeit slightly behind. A proper slave’s length away.

Where she belonged.

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

Koori sat in her master’s room, chained to a wall. She put her head in her forearms and rested her chin against her knees. Then she wobbled back and forth like a nervous child.

He said he’d be back in a few hours. Said they’d discus her punishment when she was calmer, when he'd had time to think through his options. So she could only imagine what her night would hold. More chains? A whip? A newly-purchased instrument of torture?

Maybe he’d just take her into his bed again. Take her screaming and kicking, wailing and scratching. Like he had so many times before.

She bit her lip and shook her head. _Not that, _she begged. _Anything but that._

She thought. It'd been chains last time. Bound and gagged for three days. No food. No water. Barely able to see the sun and feel its rejuvenating power.

She trembled.

Those kinds of punishments were harsh—downright cruel. The sun was a firebender’s ultimate source of power, and being taken away from it—unable to see it for days on end—severely exhausted her. It made her woozy and delirious. Nearly crazy. It made her see and hear things; horrible things she only wanted to forget. Screams, blood, crying children set ablaze.

She shivered.

She couldn’t survive another bout without the sun. She’d beg for another punishment, tell him what she saw and heard and how she felt. Maybe he’d be sympathetic, forgiving. Maybe she’d experience a rare moment of mercy.

_Slam! _

The door opened and closed and he walked in, muttering to himself while swiping a few errant hairs away from his forehead. He swiveled to her, leering, happy with the sight of her in chains.

There would be no mercy.

She gulped, painfully. And he smiled at her expression, knowing she was thirsty, knowing it had been a few hours since her last glass of water. So he turned and entered his bathroom. Ran the faucet and came out with a glass. He drank, deeply, and _ahhhh_ed when he was finished. Smacked his lips together to emphasize how refreshing it was. To be able to drink, to be unconfined and able-bodied.

He sat the empty glass on his desk and smirked. Looked at her, sitting on his floor, eyeing the beads of water swarming down the rim of his discarded glass. She licked her dry lips with an equally dry tongue and got it caught halfway until she could pop it back into her mouth, unsuccessful.

He chuckled. “Koori, Koori, Koori.” Her attention didn’t leave the glass. “So,” he reached down and pulled her face around, forced her to look at him, “how’d you get out?”

Gold and hazel met. Then gold flinched away. “I firebended at your lieutenant when he came in for the laundry.”

“Did you, now?”

A nervous nod. “Yes, Master.”

“Leo’s always been a little weak. Maybe it’s time to replace him, hmm?”

“No, Master. It-it was my fault. I caught him off-guard—when his back was turned. Please—” She blinked and tears dripped down her cheeks—Leo had always been kind to her, always talked to her even though she never responded. Always made sure she was fed and had access to clean clothes. Always checked her over after _he _had finished with her the night before. “—he didn’t do anything wrong.”

“If he did nothing wrong, then how in blazes did you get out?” He grabbed her hair and tugged it tight between his fingers. “If he can’t deal with you properly, how can I rely on him to do simple tasks, hmm?”

Koori grimaced and whimpered under his hold. “He t-trusts me, Master.”

“Maybe a little less now, hopefully.” He released her and let her head loll to the side. “He’s lucky I’m so forgiving.”

“Very lucky, Master.”

He smiled. Then cupped her chin. Gently. Very unlike him. “You left before you could hear the good news, you know.” Koori blinked and scrunched her face together, silent and questioning. “Do you want to hear it?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Ah, well, _good._” He stood and walked to his desk. Rummaged through it and pulled out a scroll. He unfurled it, read over the contents, and smirked. Then took it to her and let her peruse.

“You’ve been promoted.” She read the final line over and over again. _Congratulations, Commander Zhao._

“It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” he asked. “Commander Zhao.”

“Yes, Master. It sounds very nice.”

“It’s not just a title, you know. I’ve been given a small fleet of ships.” He folded up his scroll and tucked it into his sash for safekeeping. “It’s finally time for us to get off this god-forsaken piece of dirt. Aren’t you excited?”

She wanted to shrug, wanted to complain about the storms and rough waves; how they made her queasy and uncomfortable. How they made her sick enough to consider throwing up whatever meal he allowed her to eat.

But she couldn’t. She could do nothing but nod.

“Very excited.” She paused, considered. “When are we leaving?”

“The fleet is fueling up now. We should be ready to depart in a few days.”

“So soon?” There wouldn’t be another opportunity to escape.

“Not soon enough. Now,” he licked his lips and wrung his hands together, “about your punishment…”


	2. Lessons to be Learned

Bare feet against steel. _Pat, pat. Pat, pat. _A bloody trail, exhausted pants, and the looming threat of collapse as Koori shuffled forward.

Another lap completed and she choked on bile. She wanted to empty the contents of her stomach, wanted to pass out on the floor or rub her aching, bloodied feet and cry. But she looked at her master’s smug expression and hastened her pace; she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of her defeat.

“You wanted to run so bad,” he said from the sidelines, leering at her determination, “so _run_.”

A fire whip cracked at her ankles and she yelped and collapsed. Landed face-first, fingers splayed but unable to prevent her forehead from smashing against the floor. She groaned and heaved, coughed and sputtered. And when he cracked the whip again, she took the hit and embraced the sizzle against her calves.

_Snap! Tsssss._

A cry, anguished and whimpered. Then tears, thick and hot down trembling cheeks.

Koori wrapped her arms around her head and covered her face from his blows. And as the whip cracked up and down her body, burning through her clothes and blackening her skin, the door opened.

“_Commander Zhao!_”

There was a heavenly pause, but Koori anticipated another blow. So she clutched her head harder, curled into a fetal position, and pressed her knees against her chin.

“Commander Zhao, _what_ are you doing?” A hand pressed against her shoulder, fingers warm and nonthreatening, but she flinched anyway. “Koori,” a voice said, “Koori, are you okay?”

She couldn’t move—couldn’t respond. The voice was all-to familiar and she wanted to look up, wanted to look into kind, grey-colored eyes. But she couldn’t bear to look at _him _of all people. Not now. Not when she was cowering and covered from head to toe in blistering welts. Crying and terrified.

She cringed beneath the relative safety of her arms and stifled her whimpers. Tried to look up, but didn’t have the strength to lift her head. Instead, she bit her trembling bottom lip and imagined the concern flitting through the lieutenant’s metal-hued irises, imagined the silent rage building within his ever-increasing amount of wrinkles.

Her shoulders shook under his grasp. “Koori—”

“Get off the floor, Leo,” Zhao spat, disgusted. “It’s covered in blood.”

Koori watched Leo’s head swivel as he looked at the bloodied footprints littering the ground. He grabbed her right ankle and pulled it toward him so he could inspect the cuts and scrapes cluttering the pads of her feet. He grimaced at the glistening pools of crimson dripping and _tap, tap, taping _against the steel floor. “_What _are you doing to her?”

A snort and the _clump, clump, clump_ of booted feet. “I booked the training arena and demanded privacy. Now get out of the way or you’ll find yourself on the receiving end of her punishment.”

“Her _punishment_?” The hand against Koori’s back tightened into the destroyed fabric of her shirt. Then it shook with a mixture of fury and contempt. Shook with the thought of stepping aside, of letting Zhao commence with his torture. “For _what_?”

“She ran away. And now she gets to run until her heart’s content. So move.”

Leo didn’t budge.

“_Do I need to repeat myself?_”

Leo stood and did his best to shield her, to protect her as she lay trembling on the ground. “Zhao, if you need to punish somebody, I’m right here. She got past _me, _remember?”

“Oh, I’m well aware.”

“Then let her be.”

“After I’m finished. Now _move._” Zhao sneered and clenched his fists. Fire crackled in his hands as he allowed his inferior a moment to step away.

Leo didn’t budge. Couldn’t. But after a snarled grunt from Zhao, he grudgingly stepped aside, wincing with every step. And when he was finally out of the strike zone, Zhao commenced. Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three—Koori counted while she listened to the snaps of the whip and the sizzle of flesh oozing until raw. She cried into the floor between strikes.

_Snap! _Sniffle. _Crack! _Hiss.

Twenty-seven, twenty-eight.

She looked at Leo until he looked away.

Zhao continued until the thirty-third lash—the amount of laps she had failed to complete. And when he cleared his throat, Koori let out a mixture of hisses and whimpers. She tried to move, tried to uncover her head, but wailed instead and cried into the floor, mixing her tears with blood.

“Next time—” Zhao said as he neared, nostrils flaring at the smell of burnt flesh. He inhaled and smiled, licked his lips and knelt. Pushed back a tendril of black hair so he could watch his possession cry. “—I suggest you ignore the temptation to flee. Understood?”

Koori sniffled and nodded. Rubbed her snotty nose with the back of her hand and caught Leo’s sad gaze from afar. Looked away when Zhao snapped his fingers in front of her face and demanded her complete attention.

“Oh, _Koori_,” Zhao cooed. He wrapped his arms around her waist, lifted her up, and pressed her tight against his armored front. One rough-skinned hand stroked her quaking, tear-sodden cheek. “Shhhhh. Don’t cry. It’ll be okay.” He paused and pecked her forehead and kept his lips against her head as he considered. “It’s not hard, you know. All you have to do is be good. _Listen. _Do as you’re told. It’s just…simple.” He grabbed her forearm and squeezed it tight. Sent a wave of skin-blistering heat through his fingertips. “_So why can’t you understand that?_”

_Smack!_

And she was on the floor again. Sputtering and crying and sniffling as she rubbed her nose with her undamaged forearm, smearing snot and tears together on her ratty sleeve.

Then it started.

White fire erupted from her wounds and littered her pale flesh with joyous, bouncing flames. It started healing her destroyed skin with quick precision as it mended each marred gash, each blistered welt. Koori didn’t move while her inner flames tore up and down her body. And when her skin was finally whole again, her whimpers stopped. A single refreshed breath poured out and her eyes closed with exhaustion. Unconscious.

“Koori…” Leo stepped forward but stopped after a glare.

“Get out, Lieutenant.” No movement. “_That’s an order._”

Leo left.

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

“Put this on.”

Koori stopped packing Zhao’s books and took off her clothes without question. She held out her hand and expected the shirt and pants he preferred to see her wearing instead of the outfit she had picked. And after a bit, she looked up and noticed him watching from afar, leering at her nearly naked body until the sight grew too difficult to bear. His rough fingers found flesh and they steadily traced the soft line of her jaw to the base of her ear. Down her throat and into the divot of her collar. Along the bone until veering south, curving with the swell of her exposed breasts, thumb tracing the pink-hued outline of her areola until the nipple reacted to the tender touch.

“Mmmm,” he hummed into her ear and drew closer. Slid his free hand into the small of her back and fingered the top of her black panties. “We could delay our departure.”

She quivered under his touch and bit back bile. “Don’t you have to inspect the fleet and your new crew, Master?”

A pause. “They can wait.”

“You’d be jeopardizing your new position, Master.”

A grumble. Then a retreat. Hands pulled back and away, then he threw and outfit overtop her exposed skin.

“Get dressed.”

She did. And as she finished, Zhao was left waiting. _Tap, tap, tapping _his foot impatiently against the steel floor, arms crossed and leering.

Then, “If you behave today, I may consider buying you a present.”

She paused as her hands clenched the lid of the final box. Then she glanced up and fought against a menagerie of fidgets as his humored expression filled her gaze.

Koori affixed the lid and looked away. Bit her lip until it bled between her teeth. Swallowed.

Painfully.

From Zhao, presents could mean anything; a new instrument of torture, a slinky outfit designed specifically for his amusement, chocolate from the Fire Nation, peaches imported from the captured outskirts of Ba Sing Se—her favorite food. _Anything. _And after her stunt yesterday, she could only imagine.

“A _thank you_ is typically appropriate.”

A small smile and a kowtow, knees and forehead pressed tight against the ground, fingers interlaced to show her place. “Thank you, Master. You are incredibly generous.”

She could feel his cold-hearted smirk spread wide across his face as his leering eyes roamed her form. Back of her head, down her forearms, over her fingers, and back up. Over her shoulders, into the small of her back, across the swell of her bottom, and down each leg. Then back to her black-haired head.

“Get up,” he said after a solid minute. “You’re making me late.”

Koori rose and Zhao draped a red cloak over her shoulders, making doubly sure the hood was fastened to his liking. And when she was appropriately covered from head to toe—as was his preference, because _nobody should be able to see her_—they left, leaving behind eight tightly packed, black-hued boxes for somebody else to collect while they traveled to Zhao’s new quarters.

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

The dock was bustling. Filled with a ridiculous number of steel-hulled ships, each one growing more and more menacing as they approached. Each was packed with soldiers carrying out various duties, some practicing their basic weapon drills, others demonstrating their bending katas. More piled boxes onto cranes for storage or milled about in rows of five, parading through the grass-crushed streets. A final few enjoyed a rare moment of time off-duty, laughing and cajoling their war-hardened friends into intricate dares of bravery. And stupidity. 

One challenge stuck out a little more than the others. Just outside of Zhao’s earshot, but not Koori’s. She turned her head slightly to the left and listened to the conversation amid the raucous noise of the harbor.

“Go ahead, Takuma. Yank her hood. _I dare ya. _And if you don’t do it, everybody’ll know you’re a fire-hen.” A pause as the small crowd surrounding Takuma sniggered and clapped each other on the back. “_Ba-coooock._”

Koori couldn’t help it; she broke one of Zhao’s most basic rules.

She looked up.

Tore her sight away from her master’s feet. Caught Takuma’s frightened gaze—so young, _too young_—and his stammered response. “P-prince Zuko w-would _kill me_.”

The small crowd erupted into gut-breaking laughter.

_Thud._

Koori clasped her nose and cursed Agni’s name under her breath. Looked up. Then immediately down. She cursed Agni’s name once more after realizing she'd run into Zhao’s back, posture tense and unmoving. A solid wall of muscle and steel.

More laughter from behind—Takuma’s small crowd had seen.

But Zhao didn’t react to the merriment. Didn’t bark out a myriad of orders or scare the offending titter-makers away. His attention was elsewhere; up ahead, where a comically small ship with a crooked nose was docked amid the largest ships in the Fire Nation’s Navy.

He snorted.

Then broke into a fit of harsh chuckles that killed the laughter from behind. “Time to go,” Koori heard. And Takuma’s party quickly shuffled off.

Zhao snapped his fingers and a soldier rushed forward. Saluted. There was a whispered command and the faceless man ran off. Then Zhao turned and caught her elbow. Pulled her close enough so he could lean down and murmur into her cloaked ear. “I’m going to need you, Sweetheart.” His voice was venomously sweet, which wasn’t good. He chuckled again, harsh and cryptic. “Prince Zuko’s here.” An inhale, refreshing and confident. Scary. “It must be my _lucky day_.”

He walked forward, hands clasped behind his back. Chest puffed up so he could proudly display his new sash—a sign of his recent promotion. Koori followed, forever his shadow, forever slightly behind and watching his confident footsteps trudge through the sand.

They neared the destroyed, severely-outdated warship and Koori looked up—broke Zhao’s rules. _Again. _

She watched a few people disembark. An older man, appearing dangerously out of place, lips thin and a miserable expression on his face. Like he didn’t want to be docked at this particular port, surrounded by so many large warships filled with people who probably despised him for being associated with an outcast member of the Fire Nation’s royal family. Followed by a uniformed pair, viciously bickering. A much older man, smallish in stature but not in girth. And a teenager.

_The infamous Dragon of the West. And Prince Zuko._

They were angrily whispering. Squabbling. Going back and forth with quiet jabs until, “…I don’t want anyone getting in the way—”

“Getting in the way…_of what_?”

The pair stiffened at the interruption. Looked up and scowled.

But Zhao continued after offering a slight bow their way. A sign of respect even though he didn’t truly mean it. “Prince Zuko.”

“_Captain Zhao,_” Zuko said through gritted teeth. “How—”

“It’s _Commander_, now,” Zhao corrected with a turn. “Ah. And General Iroh, great hero of our nation.” Another bow, this one with purpose. Respectable.

Iroh beamed. “_Retired _general,” he said.

A grin. “The Fire Lord’s brother and his son are welcomed guests anytime. What brings you to my harbor?”

“_Your har—?”_

Iroh cuffed his nephew, but disguised it by pointing backwards, to the destroyed prow lurking menacingly behind. “Our ship is being repaired.”

Zhao glanced up. “That’s quite a bit of damage.”

“Yes…” Zuko frowned. Grit his teeth again and clipped each word like it physically pained him. “You. Would. Not. Believe. What. Happened. Uncle!” He gestured outward and caught his uncle off-guard with a smack to his armored stomach. Then winced at the impact. “Tell Commander Zhao what happened.”

Iroh’s eyes bulged. “Yes! I will do that. It was incredible…!” He turned to his nephew and started whispering, which left Zhao alone to speculate and grin.

“Really?” Zhao said after a half-hearted explanation, thoroughly amused. “Well, you must regale me with all of the _thrilling _details.” He leaned forward and entered Zuko’s personal space. “Join me for a drink?”

Zuko took a step backward, turned, and started walking away. “We have to go.”

“Prince Zuko.” Iroh pulled his nephew back and righted him in place. “Show Commander Zhao your respect.” A bow. “We would be honored to join you. Do you have any ginseng tea? It’s my favorite.”

Zhao and Iroh walked off idly chatting, leaving an angered prince behind. He grumbled like he was alone, and Koori glanced at him. Then looked away and followed her master, making sure to maintain a suitable distance. A proper slave’s distance.

But Zuko caught up to her and walked beside her like he didn't understand what she was. He glanced curiously into the darkness of her hood and tried to get a better look. Then frowned when he couldn’t. “Who’re you?”

Zhao’s rules were clear. _Keep your distance. Look at the ground. _And most importantly, _don’t talk._ And he was only a few feet away, nodding at the esteemed ex-general. Feigning interest as Iroh compared the palatal intricacies of ginseng tea cultivated from across the world.

Zhao’s head tilted slightly backward. He leered at the prince, then turned back around. “Oh yes. Such different tastes. I’m partial to a blend cultured from the middle Earth Kingdom, myself.”

Iroh brightened. “Ah,” he said. “White ginseng is delicious. Do you have any?”

“All out, I’m afraid.”

“That’s sorely disappointing.”

“I’m sure we can find something to quench your thirst.”

“_Who. Are. You_.” A snarled whisper so close to Koori’s ear. But she still didn’t respond. She knew her place—knew the ramifications if she uttered a single word—and when they finally made it to Zhao’s harbor-side tent, she still knew where she belonged.

So she disappeared into one of the shadowed corners. Knelt and sat on her feet, far out of the way. Far beyond Zuko’s snarled queries and Iroh’s tea-related mutterings. Far away from Zhao’s reach, but close enough to hear everything. Close enough to occasionally tilt her head skyward and glance at the three uniformed men when she thought it was safe.

On more than one occasion, she caught Zuko watching. Glaring and folding his arms in a huff as he sat on his offered chair. His head swiveled in her direction—permanently fixed itself there—as his uncle walked away and examined the spears decorating the perimeter of the room.

Zhao followed, but he continued beyond the decorative display, walking toward the only tapestry in the room as he shifted the conversation from tea to battle strategies. He made sure to highlight the Fire Nation’s superiority, grinning wickedly as he admired the map pockmarked with victories. “…and by years’ end, the Earth Kingdom capitol will be under our rule.” A sigh. “The Fire Lord will _finally_ claim victory for this war.”

But Zuko grumbled from his chair. “If my father thinks that the rest of the world will follow him willingly, then he’s a fool."

Koori looked up at the treasonous remark. Locked eyes with the disgraced prince. Blinked once, twice, then three times as the sight of his marred face etched itself into her memory.

It was the first time she'd ever looked at him, the first time she'd ever seen the outcome of his infamous Agni Kai. Gnarled skin colored pink. An eye that was permanently slit, forever glaring. Forever broken. Forever shamed.

And she hated it. Was revolted by it.

But she couldn’t look away.

Zuko’s head jerked backward and he squinted. His eyes widened the moment he noticed the shade of her eyes.

Gold.

Fire Nation gold.

A color that usually baffled all who managed to see her. A color that most Fire Nationer’s immediately questioned. _Her? A slave? But she’s one of us._

And once he saw, neither could look away.

“Two years at sea have done little to temper your tongue,” Zhao said as he sat in Iroh’s abandoned chair. He noted the prince’s diverted attention. Noticed his slave breaking her rules and issued a silent warning with a single glare.

Koori instantly looked down at her hands and fidgeted.

“So,” Zhao said with a smirk, “how’s your little search for the Avatar going?”

_Clang-clang-clang-clang. SMASH!_

Koori jumped backward, hand to her chest. She couldn’t help but look at the fallen spears littering the ground, pointed ends far too close to her legs. She wiggled away, toward the tent’s opening. But stopped when she heard a voice. Settled when she looked up and caught Iroh’s mortified and apologetic gaze.

“My fault,” he said as he backed away from his mess, bowing at her. “Entirely.”

Zhao cleared his throat and Koori looked at him. Then she looked away when he leered.

“We, ah, we haven’t found him yet,” Zuko said.

“Did you really expect to? The Avatar died a hundred years ago, along with the rest of the airbenders.” Zuko looked away and Zhao smirked. “Unless you found some evidence that the Avatar’s alive, of course.”

“_No.”_

“Well that’s unfortunate. The Avatar’s the only one who can stop the Fire Nation from winning this war.” Zhao stood. Grinned. Then leaned forward and invaded Zuko’s personal space once more. “_If you have an **ounce **of loyalty left, you’ll tell me what you’ve found._”

“I haven’t found _anything_,” Zuko spat. “It’s like you said: the Avatar probably died a long time ago. With the rest of the airbenders.” He stood and grabbed his uncle’s arm. “Come on, Uncle. We’re going.”

The flap opened before they could get to it and Leo entered. He sidestepped the royal pair and bowed. “Commander Zhao,” he said with a slight huff. “We interrogated the crew as you instructed. They confirmed that Prince Zuko had the Avatar in custody, then let him escape.”

Another grin. This one more terrifying than most. “Now remind me,” Zhao said as he stepped forward, hands clenched behind his back, “how _exactly _was your ship damaged?”

Zhao made a single gesture and guards filed in. Zuko reluctantly returned to his seat and told his unbelievable story, glossing over an obvious number of important details. But Koori listened to every word, breath growing more and more pained as the tale continued.

There was only one important takeaway: the Fire Nation’s greatest enemy was a twelve-year old airbending boy.

A child.

“I underestimated him once,” Zuko said, knuckles turning white as he gripped the handrails of his chair, “_but it will **not **happen again._”

“No,” Zhao said, _tap, tap, tapping _the back of his hand as he considered. “No, it won’t.” He turned. “Because you won’t have a second chance.”

“Commander Zhao—I’ve been hunting the Avatar for two years and I—”

Zhao turned and flames spiraled out of his hand. “_And you have **failed**. _Capturing the Avatar is too important to leave in a teenager’s hands. _He’s mine now._”

Zuko stood, enraged. Steaming. And the guards pulled him back and away from their commanding officer. Wrestled him back into a chair as he kicked the tea table out and away.

_Crash! Clang!_

The teapot shattered.

And Iroh's gaze grew dark. “_More tea please.”_

“Keep them here,” Zhao barked as he left.

Koori floundered. Zhao left without looking at her. Left without demanding that she follow or stay behind. So she stayed still. Remained firmly rooted as Zuko’s guards left the tent and returned to their posts outside. She bit her lip, unsure of what to do. Unsure of what was appropriate or allowed. Then she looked at the shards on the carpet, stared at the brown stain soaking into the fibers, and decided to pick up the porcelain slivers before somebody got hurt.

She reached forward and collected the shards. Stacked them delicately into the curve of her palm before righting the overturned table and depositing them on top.

“So,” Iroh said as he took a sip from his salvaged teacup. “Who’re you?”

“Nobody cares, Uncle.”

“Manners, Prince Zuko.”

An annoyed huff. Then Zuko looked at her. Scowled, more like. “Answer him,” he ordered.

“_Manners, _Prince Zuko.”

Koori opened her mouth. Then closed it. Opened it again. And closed it.

Talking was against the rules. Taking off her hood was against the rules. But she considered breaking those rules. _Decided _to break those rules.

Down went her hood. Out poured black locks. She ran her hand through the base of her hair and ironed out any tangles. “My name’s Koori.” She smiled and bowed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“A _girl_,” Iroh gasped. “A _pretty _girl!”

Zuko was not impressed. “The world is _filled _with girls, Uncle.”

“Prince Zuko,” Iroh huffed. “When was the last time you saw a Fire Nation girl?”

“How do you know she’s Fire Nation?”

“I am.”

“See, Nephew? Fire Nation. A beautiful Fire Nation specimen.”

There was a silent moment as Iroh realized where they were. Not at a Colonial settlement, not in the Fire Nation. Docked at a military port. And he looked at her, eyes wide. “So…what are you doing here?”

“Oh…I, um…” There was an awkward pause. “I’m a slave.”

“Ah.” Iroh looked away and focused on the map behind him. Then looked anywhere other than at her.

“But you’re Fire Nation,” Zuko said.

“It’s a tricky situation,” she said with a soft smile.

“Tricky?” A nod. “Care to enlighten us?”

“No, thank you.”

A frown. “So who do you belong to?”

The flap opened and a rush of cold air swept inside. Koori’s head shot down.

“My search party is—” She wiggled backward, into her corner. Put up her hood and stopped breathing. Stared at Zhao’s booted feet and closed her eyes. She prayed to Agni that he’d be merciful. That he’d understand if she explained. Maybe. _Maybe. _“—ready.” Zhao’s boots shifted toward her, then stopped. “Once I’m out to sea my guards will escort you back to your ship and you’ll be free to go.”

“Why? Are you worried that I’m going to try and stop you?”

“You? Stop me?” Zhao laughed. “Impossible.”

Zuko rose, fists flaming. “Don’t underestimate me, Zhao. I _will _capture the Avatar before you.”

“Prince Zuko,” Iroh said. “That’s enough.”

But neither teen nor commander heeded the esteemed ex-general’s words.

“You can’t compete with me,” Zhao said, smirking. “I have hundreds of warships under my command. And you? You’re just a banished prince. No home. No allies. Your own father doesn’t even want you.”

“You’re _wrong!_ Once I deliver the Avatar to my father, he’ll welcome me with honor and restore my rightful place on the throne.”

“If your father really wanted you home, he would’ve let you return by now. Avatar or no Avatar. But in his eyes, you’re a failure and a disgrace to the Fire Nation.”

Zuko’s fists clenched. He snarled. “That’s not true.”

“You have the scar to prove it.”

“_Maybe you’d like one to match!”_

“Is that a challenge?”

A nod. “An Agni Kai. Tomorrow, at sunset.”

“Tomorrow.” Zhao stopped. Took a breath. Stared at his slave until she looked up at him, eyes bleary and knowing the consequences of her actions. “Very well.”

“Zuko…”

“It’s a shame your father won’t be here to watch me humiliate you.” Zhao shrugged. “But I guess your uncle will do.”

He snapped his fingers and Koori stood. She didn’t even bother to brush off her knees or fix a single hair pouring out of her hood. She kept her face down, eyes fixated on the floor and Zhao’s boots. Where they belonged. Where they should always be.

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

“I-I’m sorry, Master.” Koori knelt on the steel floor of Zhao’s new quarters and started begging. _Pleading_. “I didn’t know—I didn’t think—”

“And that’s the problem, Sweetheart.” Zhao cupped her chin and forced her face sideways as his fingers dug into the hallow pits of her cheeks. “_You don’t think.” _He released her face after a pained whimper.

She wriggled out and away from him, grabbed the nearest box and began unpacking. She began making his bed by unfurling a crimson bottom sheet.

“But you’re in luck,” he said. “You did exactly what I wanted you to do.”

A blink and the sheet fell. “…I…what?”

“I wanted them to stay put. So I used you as a distraction. A curiosity. And you performed _marvelously._”

Another blink. Disbelieving. “So you _wanted _me to introduce myself?”

_Smack! _

She fell to the floor and cupped a freshly-bruised cheek.

“_Of course not._ That was never my intention. But it played out very nicely.”

Koori trembled. Struggled to get onto her feet and eventually used the bed’s metal platform for support. “Y-you wanted an Agni Kai?”

“A chance to beat that brat in combat is always welcome. But no, that wasn’t what I originally wanted.”

“T-then _what?_ What could you’ve possibly wanted from him?”

He went to smack her again but she flinched away and fell to the ground. She prepared herself for anything and everything, but Zhao didn’t move. He merely smiled at how afraid she was, how she cowered on her knees and couldn’t stop looking at him with tear-reddened eyes.

“Information, sweetheart. I wanted information.”

A pause and a breath. Unsure. “About the Avatar?”

“About how his ship was damaged, you idiot.”

_Smack!_

She whimpered again, then curled into a ball on the floor.

“I didn’t expect to hear about the Avatar. He’s been dead for a hundred years—_nobody _thought he’d return.” Zhao ran a hand over his top-knotted head. Growled. “To think that Zuko might be _successful_. It sickens me.”

“W-what are you going to do?”

Zhao smiled. Wicked and terrifying. “I’m going to kill that little brat. And you’re going to watch. But first—”

He grabbed her arm and pulled her onto her feet. Then shoved her back, onto the mattress.

“_No! _No, no, no! I’m sorry—_I’m sorry—”_

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

_Clank, clank, clank. _

Chains rustled underneath too-warm bedsheets and a grumble resounded nearby. Koori stilled and held her breath and waited for Zhao to drift into a deeper sleep before she continued her careful examination.

One minute, two. Then three and she began again, rubbing her fingers up and down the length of her left leg. The top, where fingerprint-sized bruises littered her thigh and knee, to the bottom, where a thick strand of chains laid claim to her ankle, preventing her from moving. Preventing her from struggling against him as he straddled her through the night. As he took her hard and fast and left her crying in his wake.

She breathed deep and focused on being quiet. A hearty tug, but the manacle didn’t budge. Instead, it mocked her, laughed at her weakness and inability to escape. So she gave up and pressed her back into the mattress and listened to the chain’s silent chuckles, fully aware of how pathetic she was. Fully aware of how stupid she'd been.

_Just **listen **to him. Do as he says. **Do as he says. **It’s so simple._

_So why can’t you do that?_

_What’s **wrong **with you?_

A few quiet minutes passed and Zhao grunted in his sleep and slung a meaty arm over her torso. He pulled her close, close, _closer _until her breasts were tight against his chest. He pressed his face into her hair, breathed deep, and nestled his chin into the crook of her neck, forcing her to remain painfully still unless she wanted to wake him.

And she did not.

Not when he was finally calm and not yelling. Not when he wasn’t holding her down and making her wail. Not when he wasn’t demanding his fill of her—because that was his _goddamned right and why didn’t she understand that? _

She sighed and closed her eyes and tried to sleep by counting his heated exhales. And when she couldn’t find comfort with her position, she wriggled—_slowly_—to a familiar spot where she could press her cheek against the edge of his shoulder and entangle her arms around his for some stability. And when she was finally comfortable, she drifted away, unable to escape the shackle. Unable to escape the room.

Unable to escape _him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the love and support! It truly means the world to me!


	3. Agni Kai

“Left.” An inspection. “Right.” Another.

Koori sighed as Leo examined each arm and scribbled down a myriad of notes. He sat a few inches away—a distance agreed on by both parties—and ran his eyes over her figure, gesturing when he wanted her to turn over her arms, stand, pull up her leggings, turn around, and sit down. He never touched her—always knew better than to touch Zhao’s property when the man wasn’t around—and used a ruler to guide clothing away from skin when he wasn’t satisfied and she couldn’t reach.

“The bruises on your wrists are new,” he said as he read his notes from the previous page. “As are the ones on your neck.”

A shrug. _There’s always something new._

“Did he hurt you last night?”

A nod. _He usually does._

“Because of Prince Zuko?”

No movement.

“General Iroh?”

Nothing.

“Did he tell you why he decided to do this?”

A head shake. _He usually doesn’t._

“Well that’s nice of him.”

A snort. Then a fear-filled expression as Koori realized what she’d done. An apologetic gaze, searching, searching, searching Leo’s eyes. _Please don’t tell him I did that. Please. Please. Please._

“Don’t worry, Koori,” he said with a smile. “These meetings are strictly confidential. Nothing you do—or have ever done—is reported back to Zhao.”

A hesitant nod. _…Okay._

“Though I wish you’d talk to me. It’d make things a hell of a lot easier.” Leo sighed. Scratched the back of his head and softly growled. “But it’s against his rules.”

No response. Just a golden-eyed stare, a mixture of sadness and remorse.

Leo clapped his armored thighs. Brightened. “Let’s talk about something happier. How about some lunch? It’s special today—a celebration for the new commander. Pan-seared komodo chicken and fried noodles.” He smirked. “Tastes like home.” He frowned at her flinch, remembering. “Well, like the Fire Nation.”

Koori grasped the offered bowl and utensils and Leo returned to his notebook. He scribbled for a while and crossed out a few lines. Put his pencil to his lips as he thought, then smirked and penned something else. Koori watched until her stomach grumbled.

She looked at her bowl and puckered her brows. Then mixed up her noodles and picked out the mushrooms. Tossed them aside like the fungus they were.

“They’re good for you, you know,” Leo said without looking up. Because he knew—he _always _knew. He was the only one who’d spent years learning her likes and dislikes. “You should eat them.”

A vehement shake of her head and a disgusted face, tongue out and lips upturned. _Eww._

He looked up and chuckled at her face. “Yes, yes. I know you don’t like them. But still. A growing girl needs all sorts of nutrients. And mushrooms have all sorts of good things in them. Protein, carbohydrates, riboflavin, niacin, copper, selenium, potassium…”

A dead-eyed stare. And when Leo saw, he shifted uneasily in his seat and looked uncomfortable. He gazed at his notes like they were the best distraction in the world, then looked back at her with a pitiful expression on his face.

“I would never _make _you eat them, Koori. So don’t look at me like that.” He paused. “Please.”

She looked away. Grinned. Then squirmed forward and took a moment to breathe in the scent of her bowl. She inhaled the warm aroma and succulent spices and hummed. “Mmmm.” She took a bite. Then another. Then she squeaked a little bit as she consumed her seasoned-to-perfection meal.

Leo returned to his notebook while she ate. And after she was finished, “Delicious, wasn’t it?”

A nod. _Better than rations._

“I’m glad you liked it.” She handed him the empty bowl. “I just wish I could give you more.”

There was an awkward pause. Then Leo leaned forward and tucked his notebook and pencil inside his breastplate. “So Zhao, huh?” He waited until she looked at him, acknowledged him. “An Agni Kai at sundown with Prince Zuko. It sounds like something he would do.”

A nod. _Pretty much._

“You’re going, right?”

Another nod. _I don’t have a choice—I never have a choice._

“Thought so. You’ll be standing next to me until it’s over. That okay?”

A short consideration. _I’d prefer you over anybody else. _And she nodded.

“That’s good.” Leo chuckled; a low, heart-warming sound. “Are you excited?”

Her face scrunched together. Eyebrows down and lips mashed in uncertainty. _Is anybody?_

“Yeah, I’m not, either. Seems silly. Unnecessary.” He drummed his fingers against his lap. “Think Prince Zuko stands a chance?”

Koori shrugged. _Does anybody stand a chance against him?_

“Well, I guess we’ll see in a few hours.” Leo looked up and caught the clock _tick-tick-ticking _on the wall. “Agni,” he cursed, “is that accurate?”

A nod.

“I’ve gotta go,” he said as he stood. “Sorry to cut our meeting short, Koori, but with the Agni Kai tonight,” he shrugged, “duty calls.”

_Click. _And he was gone. Door locked.

Koori looked at the door. Then at the clock. _Tick. Tick. Tick. _And she sulked. Sighed.

The Agni Kai…

Sunset would be in a few hours and there could only be one victor. Would it be Zhao? Or would Prince Zuko defy the ever-increasing odds stacked against him?

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

The harbor’s arena was a massive, four-walled, two-story structure with observation decks on all sides. There were a few spectators on top with their arms over the railing, legs spread in wide stances, watching and waiting with barbaric grins on their faces. A few were chatting; a few were taking bets. But the remainder were silent and stoic, waiting for the match with bated breath.

And as Zhao approached the outside edge of the range, he turned. He faced his slave and pulled her hood down, and Koori looked up, curious. Baffled because _nobody was supposed to see her_.

“I want you to watch,” he said as a sadistic smile cracked across his face. “Watch very, very closely.”

He took off his shirt and handed it to her. Then he grabbed his ceremonial sash from her other hand and draped it over his shoulders. Turned back around and walked to the center of the arena, where he knelt with one fist resting in the dirt. A breath in. A breath out.

Calm.

Unlike him.

Leo was at her side in an instant. “Doing okay?” he asked.

A nod.

“Good.” He frowned. Squinted. “They’re here.”

Zuko and Iroh entered the arena, whispering to each other. And though Koori couldn’t hear their conversation, she assumed they were sweet words of encouragement. Final words of wisdom and guidance.

Strategy for victory.

And when the conversation finally concluded, the teenaged prince and full-grown commander faced one another, discarding their ceremonial sashes as they entered their stances.

“This…should be over quickly.”

The gong resounded with a _bwoong_ and Koori leaned into Leo’s arm, frightened yet exhilarated. Leo didn’t comment on the contact, but he did acknowledge it by shifting his weight and leaning back.

There was silence—an eerie nothingness where nobody even breathed. And then—

It started.

Flames around Zuko’s fist, a punch and a fireball launched violently across the field, straight for Zhao, who merely stepped aside with a smirk.

The attacks kept coming—relentless—but they were all easy to dodge. All easy to maneuver around or brace against until Zuko practically exhausted himself. His pants filled the air and he kicked one final blast. But Zhao pressed his fingers into the attack and dragged it behind him before he stepped forward with fire surging within his palms.

“Basics, Zuko!” Iroh was shouting from the other side of the field, one fist clenched. “Break his root!”

But the prince didn’t get the chance.

Zhao advanced, punching fireball after fireball forward, each one an incredible inferno of rage and contempt. And Zuko tried to block the first few, tried to thrust his own fire forward. But he eventually collapsed beneath the barrage and shielded what was left of his face with the littlest amount of defensive fire he could muster.

There was a cloud of dust as Zuko fell backward, and Koori inhaled, deep yet rushed. She reached for the comfort of Leo’s hand as Zhao jumped forward with fire coiled dangerously around his entire arm, ready to end the abomination that was his nation’s disgraced and exiled prince. And when the flames finally left his hand and headed downward—toward Zuko’s exposed skin—Zuko rebounded with a furl of his feet and sideswiped Zhao’s armored shin.

Zhao collapsed and Zuko flung himself onto his feet. He brushed forward, unleashing sparks, and Zhao pulled back instantly, feet shuffling as he tried to regain his footing. Zuko brushed forward again, unleashing more sparks, and Zhao again, staggered back. Then Zuko did it again. And again, and again, and again. Each time pushing Zhao backward.

Zhao couldn’t ground himself and Zuko kicked flames across the entire field. The inferno pushed Zhao off his feet until he spiraled into the dirt and rolled to his side for protection.

Zuko ran forward and extended his arm over Zhao’s face.

Koori stopped breathing; her eyes widened and her fingers clutched onto Leo’s hand like it was her only lifeline. _This is the end, _she thought. _The end of the torture. The end of the torment. _The scene and the thoughts were too good to be true.

_Zhao is going to die. _

She could run away. Finally be free. Go home and see if there were any survivors. Go home and never see another Fire Nation soldier ever—_ever—_again.

Just one more punch. That was all it would take. Zuko only had to unleash one much burst…

But he hesitated.

“Do it!” Zhao screamed, face wrought with a foul snarl.

It took a moment, but Zuko did.

Flames left his fist and spiraled into the ground beside Zhao’s head. The blast left a nasty mark in the soil and a plume of smoke danced into the air.

“That’s it?” Zhao’s face twisted into a sneer. “That’s all you’ve got?” He growled, “Your father raised a coward.”

The battle was over—Zuko had won—but he didn’t relax. “The next time you get in my way,” he said, dangerously quiet as he leered, “I promise that I won’t hold back.” His shoulders finally slumped and he turned. He started walking away, started returning to his uncle. But before he made it a few steps, Zhao stood and whirled.

Attacked—

But then Iroh was standing between them, clutching Zhao’s foot, arm extended for defense in case his opponent wanted to continue. He tossed Zhao back with more force than anybody could've imagined coming from a portly old man and adjusted his robes.

Zuko rushed back to attack again, but Iroh grabbed his shoulder. Said, “No, Prince Zuko. Do not taint your victory.”

Then he turned his attention back to Zhao, who sat up in the dirt and draped one arm over an extended knee.

“So this is how the great Commander Zhao acts in defeat?”

Koori’s golden eyes bounced from the ex-general to her master. Zhao’s face was easily readable—pissed—and his left eye twitched.

Iroh shook his head. “Disgraceful. Even in exile, my nephew is more honorable than _you.” _He turned and dragged Zuko with him. “Thanks again for the tea. It was delicious.”

And they left.

Zhao grumbled as he stood and brushed off his knees. He turned and saw Koori’s hand entwined in Leo’s, then frowned and sneered. He lumbered forward in silence as the spectators collected their winnings or left, and Leo gave her hand a squeeze, then let go and took a few steps back. Koori wished he hadn’t squeezed or let go or abandoned her, and when Zhao’s hand clenched her shirt and he barked, “I want the arena cleared,” she would’ve rather died than faced the next few moments.

Leo hadn’t understood, apparently. He reached forward and tapped Koori’s shoulder. Gestured for her to follow him back to Zhao’s quarters. She hesitantly nodded and pressed her fingers against Zhao’s wrist and tried to wriggle out of his grasp.

But he looked up. Said, “She stays.” And Koori’s heartbeat skyrocketed.

The arena grew dark and empty and Leo fled. And when Zhao was satisfied, he pushed her onto her knees. His fingers clasped around her neck and he pulled her cloak off. The fabric spiraled onto the ground and he wrapped his fingers under her chin. He pulled her face—and body—skyward.

“Koori.” His voice was frighteningly calm. His breath was uncomfortably warm and close to her ear. “Prepare to fight.”

He didn’t give her an appropriate amount of time to slide into one of the few defensive stances she knew. Instead, he hurled fire at her chest, point-blank, forcing her to scramble backward and away, barrel-rolling across the dirt in order to avoid getting singed. Then he punched twice more, sending waves of crimson across the arena.

She didn’t know how to fight. Didn’t know how to properly defend herself or attack. Almost everything she knew was self-taught, but that didn’t stop her from trying. From preventing Zhao’s flames from pouring across her skin.

So Koori drew back and absorbed each attack with fire from her fingers. Then she jumped over a tendril and dodged a wicked fireball.

Zhao paused to breathe and unleashed another bout. Koori’s arms shot up and the inferno surged up and away. Then fire encased her fists with a swirling wave and she advanced, catching a scream in the back of her throat.

She got close and let loose, and Zhao easily parried and muttered, “You’ve been practicing,” as he clamped onto her wrist and drug her down. She panicked and whirled and kicked his chest as she turned, then cartwheeled backward, breath ragged when she stopped.

She fell into a defensive stance and cringed when she saw Zhao’s surprised face.

“You haven’t cartwheeled since you were—”

“Fourteen,” she whispered, remembering the exact day she lost what was left of her childhood; the last day she’d been allowed to play. To run and jump and laugh however she wanted—as loud as she wanted—as long as she never left her owner’s sight.

“Fourteen,” Zhao said with a slight smirk. He straightened, then dipped. Attacked—

And Koori attacked, too.

Her fire was yellow and strong and hot—immensely more tamed and subdued than Zhao’s blood red—and he lurched forward and caught her wrist to avoid the blow. Forced her hand—and her flames—skyward in order to avoid being burnt. He snarled in her ear as cinders fell from the sky and drifted all around them.

“You’re going to regret that,” he whispered, breath hot and ragged against her cheek.

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

Iroh sat on the deck of his nephew’s ship with a cup of his favorite blend in his hand steaming steadily into the chilly, nighttime air. He sipped, content and alone.

Zuko had retired long ago, proud of his victory but silently sulking. Brooding over Zhao’s outright disrespect and failed attempt on his life. Jee and the others had gone shortly thereafter, leaving him all alone to people-watch and gaze at whatever happened to catch his eye.

He scanned the harbor for the umpteenth time and stared at the tents lining the shore. They looked so familiar, so hauntingly grim and sardonic. They reminded him of Ba Sing Se, of the tent city and his six-hundred day siege. Of his failure—

And his loss.

Iroh looked away and caught a jet of flames surge up and over the edge of the arena’s walls. Even during the day, an average firebender would’ve struggled with such a feat. And at night, without the aid of the sun?

There must've been a very powerful bender in there. Training, honing their skill. Perfecting a move very few could master.

And Iroh wanted to get a better look. So he ambled down the gangplank and crossed the expanse of the encampment. Slunk around the guards gossiping about his nephew’s recent Agni Kai and crept beneath the arena’s arch. Poked his head around the corner and stopped short.

“Koori?”

Iroh stared from a great distance, encased in shadow, watching flames curl in unbelievable swirls around the slave’s hands. The way she cupped the fire, held and released it, generated it in the curve of her palm and sent it skyward…

It was unlike anything he had ever seen before.

So wrong. So unique.

So beautiful.

And it was all ruined when her opponent ran into view.

Zhao hurled fireball after fireball at her feet and torso, pushing her into a wall. Forcing her arms up for defense and survival. She breathed—long and deep—and unleashed her fire. But not for offense. Strictly protection. Her fire shielded her. Absorbed his attack and redirected it above and beyond, far, far away. Where it couldn’t hurt. Couldn’t maim or maul. Burn or sear. And she did it again and again, until she was left breathless and squirming.

But Zhao came at her harder and harder, thrusting more and more fire. Filling the air with hot cinders, scalding flames, smoke, and dust. And as the air grew uncomfortable, Zhao took a step forward. Then another.

And another and another and another. Until he was so close he could reach out and touch her.

Iroh watched and clenched his fists when Zhao did just that. He stopped attacking, stopped hurling fistfuls of flames, and touched her. Violently.

“Ah!”

Koori whimpered at the assault. Ripped her head back and tried to separate from him by turning around and unleashing a wall of flames. But Zhao smirked and batted her hand away. Grabbed her wrist and twisted it around and behind her head.

“Ah-ah-gah!”

Her face contorted and she bared her teeth. Then she curved her posture into submission; head down, shoulders slumped, and knees weak. A complete surrender.

But Zhao refused to accept it. He sideswiped her legs and let her fall face-first into the dirt. He sneered and walked away. Three, four, five steps until he turned and entered a familiar pose. An offensive kata, ready to unleash a debilitating strike. An aggressive stance, ready to terminate his opponent.

A girl. A Fire Nation girl who’d long surrendered to a superior opponent.

Iroh couldn’t watch. But he couldn’t close his eyes this time—couldn’t look away and pretend that the heat from the flames was just the loving warmth of the sun as he did those three years ago.

He stepped forward. One step, two step, three.

And Koori saw his shadow against the moonlight. Looked up and shook her head. Her eyes held fear; a deep-seated terror. _No, _she mouthed. _No._

But before he could order Zhao to halt his attack, her lips morphed into an anguished cry. “_Ahhhh!_” And flames curled around her left shoulder, eating, consuming, _burning_ fair flesh. And as the blaze scorched and boiled, she wriggled onto her back and scooted across the arena. Pressed her spine against one of the cool steel walls—face contorting unpleasantly between a hiss and a sigh—and covered her wound with one trembling hand.

Iroh sprinted to offer his assistance but stopped the moment a fireball was lobbed at his feet. He looked up—glaring—at Zhao as he approached.

“That was a warning,” Zhao snarled. “Not a step closer.”

Iroh fumed at Zhao’s audacity. Fumed at the man’s outright disrespect and disregard for his slave’s wellbeing. “Zhao,” he said, breath heaving as he struggled to focus, “what have you done?”

Zhao ignored his query and instead directed his next sentence to his slave. “Never, ever,” he said while looking at Iroh, “turn your back on your opponent.”

There was no reply from the sidelines and Iroh stole a glance. He took another breath after realizing she was still alive. Still sitting there, looking at him, eyes wide and unblinking. Shivering and trembling, but very much alive. And he wanted to bolt to her. Wanted to help her.

But Zhao was still leering at him. Still preventing him from taking a single step.

Then he spoke again, voice a threatening rumble. “Understood?”

There was a whimpered reply. Zhao smirked, then slowly shifted out of his stance. “General Iroh,” he said as he dipped down and picked up his shirt, “I thought you would’ve left by now.” His words were conversational. Like there wasn’t a girl cowering a few feet away, burned and writhing in pain.

Zhao was a monster and Iroh’s skin prickled; he hid his disgust behind a well-practiced political expression and a well-rehearsed voice. “The ship will be finished by morning. We will depart the moment we’re able.”

“Ah,” Zhao said, donning his shirt with a shrug. “Of course.”

Something shifted into his gaze and Iroh’s eyes flicked to the side. He saw Koori lurch forward and hiss, press her palm tight against her burn, and sheild the destroyed flesh even though it undoubtedly caused her more pain. 

He took a step. Then another.

“Stop.”

But he ignored Zhao and continued toward the girl—toward the injured slave.

He knelt in front of her and reached out. Koori pressed herself as tight against the wall as humanly possible and whimpered when his fingers brushed her skin. She reeled backward, but there was nowhere else to go, so her eyes flicked to Zhao and her face paled. Then she looked back at him and caught his gaze.

Her lips mouthed _no, no_, but Iroh wasn’t going to leave until she was properly treated or appropriately tended to. But when he finally peeled back her fingers and saw the white flames, he stopped fussing and simply _stared_.

At the flames. At the skin stitching itself back together. At the pale, pinkish flesh that unveiled itself when the fire finally puttered out.

Iroh extended his fingers and touched the newly-healed skin. Inspected it, then smiled. “Not even a scar,” he whispered, drawing little patterns on her flesh. He stopped when she squirmed and looked at her eyes. Looked at her hair and skin and petrified face. Frowned. “How long have you been able to do this?”

Koori opened her mouth to answer, but closed it after Zhao cleared his throat and gave her a murderous look.

Displeased at the redirect, Iroh repeated his question to Zhao. “How long has she been able to do this?”

“Since before I found her,” Zhao supplied with a cryptic tilt of his lips.

“And where, may I ask,” Iroh said as he stood, standing purposefully between master and slave, “did you find her?”

An expression filled Zhao’s face. Iroh recognized it as a man with a devious lie tempting his lips. Then it softened and he said, “I found Koori in an Earth Kingdom village, near one of our great Colonies. Yu Dao.”

It wasn’t a lie. It was a carefully-veiled truth. And Iroh wanted to learn more. Wanted to understand who Koori was—_what _she was. How long she’d been in Zhao’s care. How much she knew. How she curled yellow flames to her will when most people were taught crimson. How she could use _white _flames for healing, for rejuvenating burned flesh. But first, he needed to know, needed to understand—

“Found,” he said, taking a step forward, “or stole?”

Zhao smiled and pointed to the ground. Koori crawled to him and knelt in a pile of dirt. She kept her eyes on Zhao’s feet and let his fingers roam her bare shoulder. Then he forced her to stand and shoved her forward. He turned and they left, never answering Iroh’s question.

Though, Zhao's immediate departure was answer enough.

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

When his nephew had been banished, Iroh had been his first volunteer. He’d packed as much of his life as possible in a few small boxes. Documents, photographs, letters, and games had neatly filled every square inch of room—and every square inch of the ship’s hold. But now his life was strewn about him in hapless piles and he was sitting in the middle of everything, distraught.

Fuming, he overturned his desk and frantically searched for an old letter, one that had been packed away an eternity ago. Pieces of parchment fell out of drawers and continued to litter his floor. He picked each scroll up, only to toss it to the side with a snarl.

Then, after more grumbling than he cared to admit, he found it.

A Fire Nation emblem watermarked against yellowing parchment. A letter describing a girl of roughly four summers old with an unusual talent for healing burns using firebending.

And it took him back.

Back to thirteen years ago, when he’d been handed the letter by his father, Azulon. When he’d read it over and given it to the best admiral in the Fire Nation’s Navy before starting his first campaign against Omashu. Jeong Jeong’s instructions had been clear and concise. _Kill the girl. Kill the entire village if you must. _But the man had refused task and later fled.

He’d never said why. Had never told Iroh—his best friend—his intentions or reasons. Just vanished without a trace. Without another word.

Which opened the task up to his protégé, who had accepted it with glee.

Zhao.

Iroh scrunched the letter in his hand. Looked away and remembered how _enthralled _Zhao had been with the opportunity. How _delighted _he had been to burn an entire village to the ground so he could kill a small, defenseless child.

But he hadn’t. Yes, he might’ve killed everybody in the village. Yes, he might have set every building, man, woman, and child ablaze. But he’d kept his true target alive.

But why? For what purpose?

Iroh didn’t know. And he suspected that Zhao knew more about that little girl—more about Koori—than he’d ever let on.

“_Uncle!”_ Zuko’s voice was like sandpaper against his eardrums. His door screeched open and his nephew burst in. He stopped and gazed at the mess. “I thought I heard a struggle.” He kicked the box on his right and a tower of old correspondence toppled. Zuko winced. “What happened?”

“Ah.” Iroh blinked and crumpled the letter into a tight ball. He couldn’t tell his nephew what he'd seen or what he knew. So he adopted his usual, goofy countenance. “I cannot find my Lotus Tile,” he admitted with a careful grin. “It seems I destroyed my room during my search. My apologies if I disturbed you, Nephew.”

Zuko’s eyes narrowed and he folded his arms together. Then he pointed to the far side of the room, where Iroh’s Pai Sho set was still neatly and methodically stored and displayed, pieces set up in an advanced maneuver that he was going to explain to Jee the next morning.

“Isn’t that it?”

The small piece was clearly there, prominently displayed as the central tile of his move, and Iroh feigned looking at it and grimaced. “Ah, yes, Nephew! Thank you so much!”

Zuko rolled his eyes and exited, leaving Iroh on the floor, still clutching his old letter.

Thirteen years ago, Zhao had supposedly eradicated an entire village on the outskirts of Yu Dao. Everybody had assumed the child was dead—even his father, who'd promoted Zhao to Captain for his efficiency and duty. And Iroh’d kept the letter lodged in his fist, thinking that the little girl was dead, but hoping that another one like her would eventually exist.

And now, she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of the kind words and support!


	4. The Winter Solstice: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've officially reached the part where it's necessary to include Zhao's POV. Forewarning, it can be crass, lewd, generally nasty, and extraordinarily possessive. If you're uncomfortable, I apologize, but that's the way I've chosen to characterize him based on events in the show.

The sea was home. It was hunger, desire, and comfort. It was like being nine inches deep inside his slave’s glorious pussy, slick and swaying and enveloping. A continuous cadence bolstered with a steady, pitchy moan. An occasional wail, an occasional swipe, but always knowing its place—where it belonged.

Because he owned it.

The sea. His ship. Koori.

Perhaps the world, one day, if he was given the proper chance…

Zhao stalked the deck of his ship and stopped to stand erect at its bow. He looked across the sea’s expanse and marveled at his armada. He smirked and folded his hands behind his back, watching. Waiting. Breathing in the sun’s rays, building up a steady supply of Agni’s great gift.

A glint from a passing ship caught his eye. A message from one of his many captains or lieutenants—a confirmation that everything was still well and good, as expected. Somewhere in the conning tower of his ship, an ensign wrote down the communique for the ship’s log; he’d check to make sure, later.

He grinned as the opposite vessel completely passed and gave him a brief view of the Fire Nation’s churning waters. It didn’t last long, though, another ship quickly filled the void, as per instruction. And he watched as it chugged by, stepping closer to the railing with each hundred yards it gained. He never broke his domineering stance. Simply watched, waited, and grinned about his numerous and ever-present achievements.

Like his blockade.

They’d been at sea for two solid weeks, now. Defending his homeland from potential evil-doers with a tightly-wound armada flanking his nation’s watery southern border. It was a relatively small fleet under his command—something he noted with an arrogant letter to his superiors—but he made sure that it had proven itself as the Fire Nation’s most successful.

Because of him, it most definitely was, and he enjoyed every fleeting moment.

A step. A breath. Another grin as his cold gaze scanned the next ship passing by with uniform speed.

No other commander had been in charge for so long. And no other commander had been so successful or stringent about folly or faults. His immediate predecessor had been hastily terminated for his ineptitude after eight days of command. Sent home packing because he'd mistakenly let a small Earth Kingdom craft pass his stretch; it’d sailed to shore not filled with lettuce—as was recorded—but filled with blasting jelly, ready to demolish one of the nation’s greatest ports.

If it hadn’t been for the Great Gates of Azulon, the damage might’ve been catastrophic. Debilitating.

But it didn’t matter because it wasn’t his mistake.

Though, it made for an inspiring lesson. For his crew, for the nation, and—admittedly—for him. Which was why all inbound ships were thoroughly checked and relieved of their precious cargo before being dispatched back to the Earth Kingdom (or dispatched from the physical realm, if proven a threat). It was a simple strategy. An effective strategy. And it was rapidly gaining popularity among his counterparts in the eastern, western, and northern stretches.

And if his success continued, there'd be a bit of well-deserved recognition in his future. Perhaps another promotion, if he was lucky.

And he was, really. Luck abounded around him. Seeped from his pores and spread thick around everything he touched.

He bolstered his luck on his intolerance for mistakes. Because every moment one was not victorious was a sign of absolute treachery. Failure. And he dealt with peoples’ failure personally. Deliberately. _Effectively. _And nobody said a word when those people were never seen again.

Not like they could, really. Because they would’ve been targeted with the same ferocity and eliminated without warning. Or cause.

He’d killed more than his fair share of men in his lifetime—more than his fair share of women and children, too. And with the war still spreading throughout the world, he’d be able to slaughter whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Inept members of his crew, insurgents, lost little Earth Kingdom brats searching for their dead or dying parents in the battlefield, enemy officers, people who generally annoyed him. All except—

“Sir.”

Leo.

But that was because the man had other uses. Personal uses. And he tolerated Leo’s irritating qualities because of them.

“Ah, Lieutenant.” Zhao’s words held contempt and venom. He wanted to make sure his closest confidant knew he'd been enjoying his time alone. The interruption had better be worth it. “Anything worthwhile to report?”

“I…um…no, sir. Not from the helmsman, at least.” Leo scratched the back of his neck. His fingernails made light scrapes along the base of his black-haired head. There were a few streaks of white in his topknot; time had not been Leo’s friend over the past decade-and-a-half. “I was hoping I could talk to you about Koori, actually.”

Zhao’s attention was piqued. It wasn’t often the man outright asked about his slave. It happened occasionally, but not for a while. Especially not after he’d issued a very personal threat against the man’s family if he continued asking questions and making observations that were best left alone and unanswered—observations about Koori’s bruises and general treatment; questions about her strange healing ability, her odd fire. It was better for the world that she remained a mystery. An enigma.

A slave.

_His _slave.

“About what?” Zhao asked, snorting. He turned and grasped the ship’s railing. Looked over the edge and into the roiling water below. “She’s healthy and doing her chores. What else needs to be discussed?”

Leo stepped forward and joined him; he pressed both forearms against the ship’s rail and frowned. “I was wondering when you took her out last.”

“Took her out?” Zhao affixed his hazel gaze onto Leo’s steel-colored irises until the man looked away with a flinch. “We’re on a ship in the middle of the ocean. There’s no place to _take her out.”_

“On a walk, sir. Just a walk around the deck or through the halls—anything, really. She just seems so miserable cooped up in that room. Maybe a bit lonely, too. She might perk up if she saw somebody else, even in passing.” Leo’s peppered eyebrows crinkled downward. “Just a twenty-minute walk once a day, maybe? I’ll even do it if you’re too busy. I’ll find a spare moment—”

“Did she ask you for this?” Zhao’s eyes were murderous. Violent and calculating.

Koori didn’t _get _to ask for things. She did as she was told, when she was told. If she ever wanted something, she knew it was best to live without. And if she really wanted something, she knew the price. She knew what she had to do and when she was required to do it. And she'd only submitted to that cost a handful of times.

Three, to be exact. And they were three glorious nights of passion he would never forget.

“No, sir,” Leo shook his head and frowned. “Koori doesn’t ask me for things. She doesn’t speak to me. Your rules are very clear—”

“Then why are you asking?”

“Well, sir, she seems…sad.”

“Sad?” Zhao chuckled. “Sad? You think Koori seems sad? What does she have to be sad about? She has clothes on her back and a roof above her head. A prepared meal to eat and a very easy list of chores to complete. And as long as she behaves, she’s taken care of. Without need. And you think that she’s—” Another laugh, cold and empty. “—sad.”

“Well—”

“You don’t need to worry about her, Lieutenant. She’s perfectly fine just as she is. Cooped up and all.” Zhao smirked. “She’s gone for much longer, anyway. Much, much longer.”

“Yes, sir, but—”

“Don’t make me regret keeping you around, Leo. And don’t bother me with Koori’s well-being ever again. That’s my responsibility, and you know I don’t tolerate it when people question my judgement.”

“I—” Leo paused and released the railing. He took a step backward and dipped his head. “Of course, sir. I apologize for interrupting you.”

Leo fled across the deck and Zhao’s smirk grew.

The man meant well, he really did. But he didn’t understand Koori’s needs or desires. Not like Zhao did. Not like Zhao always had or would.

He looked skyward and squinted at the fluffy clouds. It was beautiful outside. Crisp and bright and airy. A lovely day for a Winter Solstice.

A glorious day for one of the world’s most revered holidays. A day to be celebrated. Enjoyed.

And they would, once the sun set. They’d planned a simple gathering to commemorate the waning distance between the physical and spiritual realms. Attendance was mandatory for most officers and all ensigns, but Zhao wasn’t going to partake. He had other plans for the night, plans that included a pair of milky-white legs wrapped around his torso and breathy moans in his ears. There’d be fireworks at the ceremony’s closing, but there’d also be a melody of explosions in his bed. Maybe a gasp or four, as well.

And a round of applause to finish him off.

His grin widened and he scanned the clouds. He couldn’t wait for—

“What is _that_?”

There was nobody around to answer, but he hadn’t been talking to anybody in particular. He pulled out his spyglass and pressed it to his eye. Looked—

And stopped breathing.

There was a brownish-white blob in the sky; it moved with six pulsating legs, weaving through cloud after cloud, trying—and failing—to stay hidden within the frothy cover.

He removed the spyglass from his eye and blinked. Then put it back up and kept looking.

There were a handful of creatures with six legs, but there was only one that could fly. And he’d only heard about such a beast from Air Nomad lore. Tales of old that mentioned a six-legged beast of burden helping the nomads or nuns spread their spiritual wisdom and pacifism across the world’s expanse. But it was impossible; they were extinct. Eradicated in Sozin’s era.

But still—that was most definitely what that was. A creature lost in time—a sky bison…

And it meant one thing—

“The Avatar.” Zhao’s gaze slipped to the sea, where a small, out-of-date Fire Nation cruiser was advancing at a comically slow pace. “And the banished prince.” His lips perked up in a merciless smile as he removed his spyglass and walked the length of his ship’s deck. “This must be my _lucky day.” _

Leo had seen as well, and met him in the middle, at the ship’s trebuchets. He briefly saluted and gathered a small crew behind him with a single gesture. “Commander Zhao, what’re your orders?”

Zhao could barely contain his rueful glee. Capturing the Avatar and the banished prince at the same time? The spirits must’ve blessed him upon birth. Anointed him with a power he could barely stop smiling over. And he’d prove that he was worth their blessing. Prove that they hadn’t wasted their time. “Shoot the bison down, Lieutenant.”

Leo’s mouth opened and vile words poured out. “But sir, there’s a Fire Navy ship out there. One of our own. What if it’s hit?”

He glared at the question. Glared at the outright disrespect that only Leo was able to survive. For now. “So be it,” he said, “It belongs to a traitor.”

Leo floundered, but the crew behind him got to work. They prepared the nearest trebuchet and stood at its side, ready for further instruction.

“Ignite.”

Flames lit up a balled mixture of tar, coal, and blasting powder. A burst of foul fumes poured off and away, providing nonverbal instruction for not only the remaining crew, but all available cruisers in the armada. Soon, every trebuchet on more than a dozen ships was ready and waiting, aiming for the beast in the sky.

“Launch!”

A coordinated volley of fireballs filled the air. They arced high and aimed true, but the beast maneuvered around each one, zig-zagging through a wide maze of fiery obstacles with an odd form of terrified precision. Occasionally, fireballs erupted or a pair collided, and the beast struggled to push through; its fur caught fire, its people were visibly screaming. But still, it pressed forward.

To Zhao. To the Fire Nation, his home.

And it wasn’t just the Avatar and his Water Tribe companions attempting to break through. Prince Zuko was still chugging along, avoiding the same attacks as they fell to the water’s surface. And Zhao couldn’t hide his glee when one of those attacks _accidentally_ struck the boy’s ship.

Its engine exploded and black smoke spewed from its stern.

Leo saw and started protesting. But Zhao ignored him and raised his hand. “Launch!”

Another round flooded the atmosphere. The balls soared high into the clouds and disappeared. A few started reappearing as they descended, and then—

A small figure fell from the sky, flailing. Screaming.

Zhao watched as one of the Avatar’s Water Tribe companions plummeted to the sea. His hold on the steel of his spyglass increased, anticipating the savage’s death, awaiting a small victory in a single skirmish. But the Avatar's beast of burden wasn’t far behind—the savage was saved.

“Launch!”

The trebuchets flew forward and released another wave.

The sky bison struggled as it moved across the ocean’s surface. It didn’t have the clouds to cover its tracks and fireballs plunged into the water on all sides, unleashing debilitating waves as it got closer and closer.

“Sir.” Leo’s nervous voice filled his ears, alerting him that they’d depleted their topside arsenal.

Zhao looked. They were down to one. But he'd worked with much less before; one was perfect. Preferred. All he needed to do was precisely aim and perfectly time it. He waited. “Ready…” One second, two, three, _four. _Then, “_Fire!”_

The ball rushed forward and ripped through the air with unmatched speed. It would’ve struck its intended target with ridiculous accuracy had the Avatar not summoned his unearthly airbending tricks and destroyed the large mound with an equally well-timed kick.

The bison rushed forward and passed overhead. Zhao scanned the sky as it trailed deeper and deeper into the Fire Nation. Into his homeland.

Leo was at his side in an instant. “Where do you think the Avatar is heading, sir?”

“I’m not sure.” Zhao scowled and turned around. Looked at the vessel chugging closer and closer, spewing an ungodly concoction of black smog and enraged flames. “But I bet a certain banished prince will know.”

A nod. “I’ll prepare the crew for his apprehension.”

Leo disappeared to collect a crew for the boarding party and Zhao watched Zuko’s cruiser _somehow _gain speed, even after it'd been extensively damaged. It barreled forward, still pouring smoke, still gaining momentum. Aimed straight for the blockade. Straight for his ship.

“Sir—” Leo was already back. By his tone, he'd realized that the prince wasn’t slowing down, too.

“What’s he doing?” Zhao asked in a snarled whisper. “He’s headed straight for us, even though he knows it’s against the conditions of his banishment.”

“Not sure, sir. But the boarding party is ready.”

“Wait.” Zhao glared at the prince’s ship. Glared at the pinpricks of people he could see working on its deck, frantically following unheard orders as they tried to drench the engine’s fire or gather up arms. He took a step forward. “Cut the engines and let them pass.”

“Are you sure, sir?”

He nodded and Leo disappeared to relay the new orders.

The commands were spread in frayed whispers and vicious shouts, and Zhao walked past three rows of trebuchets so he could stand alert and ready at the tip of his ship’s bow. He folded his arms behind his back and stayed steady as the engines jerked backward _just _as the prince’s ship started to breach his blockade.

He met Zuko’s gaze amid the flames and smog. Grinned mischievously as the boy violated the most basic terms of his banishment and entered the Fire Nation.

“Welcome home, Prince Zuko,” he muttered with a smirk as he returned to his post, ready to divulge yet another set of orders.

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

Steel floors hurt. They hurt when kneeling on them, they hurt when laying on them, they hurt when falling face-first into them. Especially when a ship running full-speed came to an unexpected stop in the midst of an ultra-rare seaside skirmish.

Koori rubbed her aching arm and knew she’d be nursing a few new bruises by the evening. She rubbed and hurt and got to her feet as quick as she could. Got to the window and pressed her face against the glass and watched as a ship—Prince Zuko’s ship—passed by without issue. She scrambled around the window seat and cursed her limited visibility as it disappeared beyond the window’s range, then sighed.

She sat on the floor and picked up the book she'd tossed carelessly aside the moment she heard the trebuchets release their first rounds. The words on the page were bland and boring and she found herself reading the same characters over and over again, never comprehending the war tactic that was deeply and disturbingly described.

Other things clouded her head. The skirmish. The past two weeks. Zhao’s unusually good mood now that he was back at sea and doing what he loved to do—order people around and flaunt his victories, no matter how petty or insignificant they appeared. He was happy. And though she benefited from it, she hated it all the same.

She slammed the book closed and returned it to its proper place in Zhao’s personal library.

A lock clicked. The door to the outside world opened and Zhao walked inside.

“I suspect you saw most, if not all, or what just happened,” he said as he strode to his desk. He riffled through a menagerie of old paperwork and cursed until he found what he was looking for—a map of the southern seas. Southern Water Tribe territory that now belonged to the Fire Nation after decades of hard-fought, seaside battles that had demolished most of the Tribe’s elusive wooden fleet.

“Yes, Master. I did.” Koori looked over the map. Pressed her fingers against the curling edge so Zhao could get the view he sought. He offered no thanks as he perused. “Was it him? The Avatar, I mean.”

A grin filled Zhao’s face. He nodded. “Yes, it seems that the prince’s crew was correct. The Avatar’s returned, a young airbender.” He frowned and traced an invisible line across his map. “I didn’t expect the boy to escape my barrage,” he said as he did the same to the other side of the map, determining the Avatar’s trajectory. “But with his unearthly airbending tricks, he did.”

“And what about Prince Zuko? You let him pass.”

Zhao looked up, eyes filled with malice. “He seems to know where the boy is going.”

“But—”

“My plan is to follow him until I can determine where the Avatar is going, myself. At which point, I’ll outmaneuver his destroyed vessel and reach the intended target before him. If I’m lucky, I’ll have the Avatar and the banished prince by the day’s end.”

“Oh.” Koori’s expression deflated, then lit up because it was expected. Because it would appease and soothe her master. “Well that’s wonderful.” She smiled.

Zhao grinned and rolled up his map. Paused, then turned. “Would you like to join me?”

“I—” She looked at him. Studied him. She wasn’t sure if he was being earnest or if he was tricking her. Making fun of her for his own amusement. “May I? May I, really?”

His smile grew and grew and he grabbed her cloak. Threw it over her shoulders and closed it up. “Two weeks in this room has been long enough, Sweetheart. It’s time to go outside and watch me do what I do best."

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

The deck was bustling. Crewmembers were working diligently and deliberately. Some close and some very far away, and though they may have been busy, they were watching. Looking.

Wedged between Zhao and Leo, Koori didn’t wonder why. She was out of place, out of her element. And the red cloak she wore did little to hide her physical presence. The soldiers still looked. They still stared. And a brave few even muttered about her mysterious figure whenever they had an opportunity, whenever her master didn’t look like he was paying attention.

“I think that’s her,” one whispered.

Koori could hear it, was used to it, and she could confirm that Zhao could hear it, too. Because he always did. Always would, whether he showed it or not.

“Can’t be,” another said, still a dull whisper against the wind on deck. “Last I heard, Zhao burned her up real good at the harbor. Tuzo said they'd battled something fierce after the Agni Kai. Said she probably wouldn’t last the night…”

The whispers died off and Koori flinched. She didn’t look up or acknowledge the soldier in any way, but she remembered that night. Remembered it well and hated that she did. Because Zhao had been angry, not only at his defeat by Prince Zuko’s hand, but at Iroh’s nose poking in places where it didn’t belong.

Iroh’d seen her. Had seen her ability and questioned how she could do what she did. And Zhao didn’t like it when people could see her, let alone find out about her unusual white fire. And he took his rage out on her.

Again and again and again.

She flinched at the memory, and on her right, Zhao moved forward, spyglass in hand. He peered through the mass of black smoke that lay like a thick fog all around, and smirked.

“The prince is trying to evade us with his river craft.” He pushed his spyglass into his breastplate. “Lieutenant, I want the helmsman to keep his distance. Let the boy think he outmaneuvered us and we’ll catch him when he least expects it.”

“Of course, sir.” Leo saluted and disappeared into the conning tower, leaving Koori without a guard and uncomfortably far away from her master.

She took a hesitant step. Then another when Zhao nodded that it was okay. She was at his side in mere moments.

“See that,” he asked as he pointed through the haze. “That’s the prince’s riverboat.”

Koori squinted but couldn’t see. A piece of her didn’t care to see it, either. She just wanted to look at the waves and watch the ocean slosh against the ship without viewing it through a window. Without looking at it from so far above.

It was peaceful. Soothing. And she would’ve gladly dove into it if it didn’t mean drowning.

“I need my map.” Zhao turned and dug into his breastplate. He pulled out his map and unfurled it. Placed it against one of the trebuchet’s sides and stared at his projected course.

Leo joined him after a few minutes. “I instructed the helmsman to stay in the prince’s smokescreen. They’ll think we’ve fallen for his trap as we slowly lag behind and hide our escape.”

“Good,” Zhao pressed his finger against his map and frowned. He pointed. “How far away from the blockade are we?”

Leo stretched out his hand. Gestured. “The blockade’s here, sir.” He traced an invisible line over a blue expanse until his finger stopped. “And here’s where the Avatar and prince passed through.”

Zhao pulled a pencil from his belt. Marked the spot. “It’s only been a few minutes, so I suspect that we’re about…here.” Another mark. “So where is he going? There are islands up ahead, but most of them are volcanic. Active, too, which means most are uninhabited.”

Leo shrugged. “Perhaps we should veer off early. Just keep following the prince. You were probably correct—he seems to know where he’s going.”

Zhao growled. Then turned again. He caught Koori looking at his map, head tilted to the side to read each island’s description. She locked gazes with him and looked down. Remembered her place and her rules.

Zhao smirked. “The Avatar was rushing,” he said. “Like he needs to be somewhere quickly, not just gaining speed to barrel through our blockade. So I’m going to assume he’s taking a direct route to wherever he’s going. And if he’s taking a direct route…” Zhao connected the two dots with his pencil, then traced his line toward a chain of islands until it fell on one. “…he should end up on Crescent Island.”

“But the only thing on Crescent Island are the Fire Sages,” Leo said. “What could he need there?”

Zhao folded his map and frowned. Looked at Koori. Again. “It’s the Winter Solstice,” he said. “The last Avatar was Roku. The Fire Sages guard a shrine to Avatar Roku on Crescent Island. It’s said that the connection between the spiritual and mortal world are strong on this day. Maybe the boy received a message and needs to contact his prior form.”

“That’s a lot of assuming, sir.”

“Regardless,” Zhao grumbled, tone dangerously low and threatening, “we need to catch him before he gets to that island. If we don’t, the ramifications could be disastrous.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Tell the helmsman to increase our speed tenfold. And send our fastest messenger hawk to alert the sages.”

Leo nodded. Saluted. “Yes, sir.”

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

The trip to Crescent Island didn’t take long. The lookout had sighted it before sundown and the crew had reacted accordingly. They gathered in tight lines and stood in formation, awaiting orders. Some had inserted their skull-like faceplates. Others remained faced and stoic, standing steady and firm as the ship slowed to a grinding halt in the island’s charred sand.

Koori hadn’t moved from her assigned position outside the entrance to the ship’s conning tower. She’d watched the volcanic island grow closer and closer until she could practically reach out and touch it. She wanted to, too. She wanted to reach out and feel the sand, spread the granules through her fingers and make the biggest sandcastle she could imagine.

But she couldn’t. Zhao would never allow it.

“Keep her here.” Zhao was suddenly at her side, watching. Leering. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Leo acknowledged the order with a stiff nod and Zhao stalked the length of the deck. He departed with his small crew and traipsed across the sand Koori longed to touch.

“He’s always so tense.” Leo tried to joke, but Koori knew her place. Though, with Zhao out of eyesight, Leo didn’t mind if she looked up and broke one of her many rules.

She did. And looked right, at the prince’s riverboat wedged in the sand a few hundred yards away.

“Good eye, Koori.” Leo pulled out his spyglass and handed it to her. She looked, then immediately returned it with a gracious smile. “I suppose that means we’re at the right place.” It was his turn to look. “And check that out, the prince’s ship.”

He handed it back and Koori stole another glance. The prince’s smoking vessel pitter-puttered into view. It released another small craft and slowly pulled in the riverboat. Then it chugged forward and embedded itself in the sand. Stilled.

And waited.

“Sir.” A soldier walked to Leo’s side and saluted. “Do you want us to board the prince’s ship?”

Leo didn’t hesitate. “The only people who are on that craft right now are Fire Nation citizens, including the Fire Lord’s brother. The only real traitor is inside the temple, and it wouldn’t be honorable to board or interrogate a craft that didn’t deserve it.”

“Uh,” the soldier balked, “yes, sir.”

“It’s a shame, though.” Leo leaned against the railing. Sighed. “I’m sure that Zhao wouldn’t have shared the same sentiment. He would’ve attacked them ruthlessly.”

Koori nodded in reply, gold eyes watching the prince’s boat as the black plumes dissipated; they must’ve fixed the damaged engine.

Her attention quickly drew elsewhere and she stared at the ornate temple atop the island’s volcano. The sun’s reflection against it made it glitter. It was beautiful. Stunning. And she wanted to go inside. Just to look. Just to see the architecture and designs. Perhaps pay her respects to a long-dead Avatar that she’d never know or properly learn about.

But she knew she’d never be allowed inside, never be allowed to look. And while she was outside and far away, she’d take whatever chance she could.

She nudged Leo’s side and silently requested his spyglass. He handed it to her with a grin plastered across his face and she peered through it. She only gazed for a brief moment before a dazzling blue light flashed across the sky. She gasped in awe—

Then fell to the floor, unconscious.

Leo’s spyglass fell out of her hand and onto the floor; the lens shattered upon impact.

“Holy—holy shit! Koori, are you alright?”

She didn’t hear Leo’s screams, didn’t hear his worried and startled gasps. And she definitely didn’t hear him angrily snap at the crew to get back to their work, to mind their own business.


	5. The Winter Solstice: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forewarning: All Zhao's POV.

Stairs. There were so many stairs. Up, up, up they went. Circling, circling, circling. Forever going nowhere, forever going _up._

Zhao and his small unit ascended with rapid footsteps. With each floor, they passed a myriad of gilded statues, several intricate pieces of memorabilia, more than a dozen gold-flecked sconces, and three ancient floor-to-ceiling oil paintings that depicted the first manipulators of fire—the lion-turtle, dragon, and phoenix.

Everything was beautiful, but they couldn’t stop to marvel, couldn’t even decrease their speed. Because they needed to go faster. _Faster. _And they were already so far behind…

Another floor. Another round of steps.

It felt like it wouldn’t end. Felt like it would take forever. And at the pace they were slowing down to, it probably would.

Even as fit and well-prepared as Zhao was, his crew…was not. Some lagged behind. Some had to catch their breath. And he made sure to mentally note which ones couldn’t keep up, which ones obviously needed more training and a strict hand to guide them into their physical prime. A diet, a regimen. _Anything _to make them faster.

Another circlet of stairs, going higher, higher, higher, then—

“Why isn’t it working?!”

Zhao slowed to a dull creep up the last few treads. Peeked above the top and saw Zuko down a darkened corridor, screaming at a collection of silk-robed, older men—the Fire Sages.

The boy looked angry—verging on enraged—and he wasn’t hiding it. Wasn’t even trying to look princely or composed, like the future leader he was _supposed _to be (not that he _would_ be, if Zhao had anything to say about it). He took an irate step forward, toward the sages. “It’s sealed shut!”

Zuko stabbed a finger at one of the priests and complained, “You said that would open it.”

“It must have been the light,” a growling voice replied. “Avatar Roku doesn’t want us inside.”

“_Tch.” _Zhao couldn’t help himself as he near-silently coordinated his men into two neat rows.

Whatever was happening in the corridor ahead was damn-near amusing. Dead people didn’t have wants; they didn’t have needs. They were dead. Gone. Spiritual enlightenment or not, nobody could escape the finality of death.

Zuko must’ve felt the same way, because he directed his line of questioning elsewhere, to another sage with his head bowed. A guilty man, if Zhao ever saw one.

“Why did you help the Avatar?”

Well. It was good to know that _somebody _had utilized his messenger hawk. Though, it had been to _help _the Avatar, not _subdue _him, apparently. And that, in and of itself, was treason of the worst sorts. A complete abuse and defilement of their nationality, their hard-worked heritage. He’d have to speak with the High Sage about that, assuming the man wasn’t a traitor, as well.

The soldier beside him issued a signal, a wordless confirmation that the unit was ready and poised to engage. They were prepared to capture the prince, prepared to capture the Avatar and his companions. But Zhao made them wait. Made them stand eerily still, just out of sight. Just out of the prince’s defective gaze.

“When the hawk came—” The sage’s eyes shifted left, then right. Zuko’s eyes narrowed as he listened; his lips pinched together, thinking. Remembering. He had not sent a hawk. Had not forewarned the Fire Sages that the Avatar was on his way or urged them to prepare themselves. But Zhao had; Zhao _did._ “—I knew I had a choice. I could blindly follow the will of my forefathers…or review my oath.”

“Oath?” Zuko snorted and crossed his arms. “What oath?”

“It was once the Fire Sage’s duty to help the Avatar at all costs…and it should _still _be our duty.”

Five pairs of eyes shared a look. Each one grew more and more scathing as they turned on the traitor. And after a long moment, the man looked away, looked anywhere than at his fellow priests. He looked down the hall and—

“Hey!”

Zhao barged in, clapping. Because his luck could get no better. The prince, the Avatar, _and _a treasonous priest from the Fire Nation’s highest spiritual body—his luck was divine. Agni really did adore him, shine upon the very ground he chose to spit on.

“What a moving and heartfelt performance,” he said, stepping closer and closer as he folded his hands behind his back. All attentions turned on him, especially the treacherous priest’s, who glared. Zhao sneered. “I’m sure the Fire Lord will understand when you explain why you betrayed him.”

“Commander Zhao.” One of the sages stepped forward; his cap and robes were adorned with jewels and gold—the High Sage. He bowed in greeting, respectable and appropriate—maybe they weren’t _all _traitors. “We received your message just in time.”

“Apparently not soon enough,” Zhao said, tone dark. Menacing.

The High Sage balked. “But—”

“But I suppose it’s no matter. Prince Zuko.” Zuko’s eyes could’ve lit polar bear-dog puppies on fire, and Zhao found himself appreciating the boy’s malice, even if it was a bit juvenile. “It was a noble effort, but your little smokescreen didn’t work.”

He smiled and stepped forward. Peered right and stared at the Water Tribe siblings who were tied to one of the temple’s many pillars. Well. At least they were already taken care of. But rope wouldn’t do. Even the most dimwitted savage could escape a corded tether if given enough time. It was always better to use metal; durable, nigh-inescapable metal.

Zuko stuttered. “I—”

“Two traitors in one day,” Zhao tutted as his soldiers bypassed him and grabbed Zuko’s arms. “The Fire Lord will be pleased.”

Zuko struggled in their grasp. Twisted left, then right, trying to break free. Trying to wriggle away. But he couldn’t. The soldiers’ holds were too strong. “You’re too late, Zhao!” His dissent was loud and enunciated with a useless kick. Then two. “The Avatar’s inside and the doors are sealed!”

His gaze darted to the dragon-gilded doors and his smile grew and grew. “No matter,” he said. Calm, too calm. “Sooner or later…he has to come out.”

“No!” The Water Tribe female started screaming. Started flailing. “Aang!”

“Silence, girl!”

She didn’t quiet down. Her protests grew louder and fouler. She started spewing words Zhao usually heard in seedy bars and backdoor alleys. Where she heard such things, he could only imagine. But he shouldn’t have been surprised, considering her savage ancestry.

“Katara!” It was the male’s turn to scream, apparently.

And Zuko, not to be outdone. “Unhand me!”

“Chain him with the others,” Zhao barked, growing irritated. He wasn’t used to petulant screams. Koori’s yelps and shrieks of anguish, yes. Childish whining about chains and well-deserved capture after breaking conditions of banishment, not so much.

When Zuko was tethered with a thick strand of unburnable metal, Zhao directed his attention to the large, ornate doors. They were still closed, still undeniably sealed. But he could wait. He could be patient. He'd been patient for minutes and hours—hell, _years—_before.

Because some things were worth waiting for—like Koori’s virginity…the Avatar’s long-awaited capture. Some things were _decidedly _worth it.

“When the doors open—” Every soldier listened. “—I want you to unleash all your firepower.”

They saluted. Then shifted into their stances, ready and waiting. They watched the door, waited for it to open. And then—

It squealed.

The doors parted.

“Ready!” Zhao could see nothing but darkness. Then, a pair of narrowed, glowing eyes. He shifted into his own stance and fire licked at his fingers. “_Fire!”_

Flames surged forth.

They were narrow and well-aimed—even from a relatively large group—and they encroached on those glowing eyes with deadly accuracy. But then—oddly, _weirdly_—they swept out and above. Circled and spun and wrapped around those glowing eyes.

Then those eyes drew forward, and standing in the shadows wasn’t an airbending monk…

It was Avatar Roku.

_The _Avatar Roku.

And his men noticed.

Their attacks ceased, but the fire persisted. _Grew. _It spread and curled and suddenly swept out—_at them_—and Zhao barely had a moment to conjure his own defensive fire before the attack shot around the room, melting metal and stone and glass. Wood caught fire. The gold-flaked pillars started melting.

And before Zhao could properly react, Zuko and the savages broke free. The prince fled down the stairs and the Water Tribe siblings disappeared behind a wall of flames.

And Zhao couldn’t stop _any_ of them because fire was coiling around him from _every direction. _It leapt and scorched and all he could hear was one of the priests screaming, “Avatar Roku is bringing down the temple! We’ve got to get out of here!”

And he couldn’t agree more.

“Retreat!”

Everybody ran as fast as they could, down the stairs and toward the main lobby. Molten lava coated every wall and bubbled up from the floor. Flagstone shook and shimmied and cracked in half, and Zhao and his men stumbled with each step they took, hoping and praying that the floor wouldn’t suddenly give and drop them into the active volcano below.

Poisonous gas filled the air. It spurted up and out in horrendous waves and Zhao coughed as it penetrated each cell of his lungs. He wanted to throw up, wanted to take a break, but the exit was _right there _and he couldn’t stop—wouldn’t stop—when it was so close.

He barreled through the temple’s doors and paused even though it was dangerous. There were thick blankets of liquefied red earth pouring down the volcano’s slick side. It trickled down in unkempt and threatening rivulets, but Zhao had to make sure all his men were out. He only had a moment to glance at each one and he screamed, “Go, go, go!” as they passed, gasping.

He wheezed and the sages stumbled out. They were tired and old and choking on poisonous fumes, but they pressed onward despite the conditions, devilishly spry as they hurled down the mountainside. And when there was nobody left inside, Zhao turned and followed, running.

They made it across the sand and aboard his ship in a matter of moments. And when they were finally safe, he clutched his aching sides and simply breathed.

He expected Leo to greet him, to be immediately at his side like the man usually was. But he wasn’t, and he was forced to look around and _search. _And when he did, all he saw was chaos.

Utter, absolute _madness._

Because Koori was on the floor, cradled in Leo’s arms. He rocked her back and forth and side to side, stammering in her ears, shushing her, comforting her. There were soldiers _everywhere, _looking in all directions. Some at his slave, others at the shuddering volcano spewing _even more_ black gas and red chunks.

It took Zhao all but three seconds to bolt across the deck, screaming even though his lungs felt raw and enflamed. “What in _blazes _happened?!”

The volcano completely erupted at his outburst. The temple exploded in a fit of molten chunks and every crew member hanging off the ship’s railing shrunk back and away, blocking whatever was left of his path. They shouted that they needed to go—and go _now—_and Zhao didn’t have a single argument against that.

A unanimous cry reached the helmsman and they were speeding off in mere seconds. And when the island was _finally_ slipping away, Zhao threw soldiers aside in droves as he scrambled to get to his slave and lieutenant.

“She passed out!” Leo had to scream above the crew’s terrified shrieks and the volcano’s ever-present, thunderous roar. “Almost right after you left!” He cupped her left cheek and rubbed his thumb against it. “I can’t get her to wake back up. No matter what I do, no matter what I say, she stays unconscious.”

A flash of blue sparked through the sky and Koori’s eyes fluttered open. Barely. Briefly. She bolted upright after a few frantic inhales and scurried out of Leo’s encircling arms. She jittered and stumbled forward until she found her master, then crumbled at his feet and held her head like it was about to implode.

Zhao reached out and lifted her up. Held her steady even though he felt anything but.

The volcano let out another ungodly rumble and the Fire Sage’s mumbled a loud prayer as the Avatar’s sky bison flew overheard.

Zhao watched, irritation consuming him, anger overpowering him. His grip on Koori’s shoulder increased tenfold and she whimpered. Loudly.

The sages turned, one by one, looking. Judging. And Zhao’s rage had no more restraints. “No prince!” he shouted, squeezing, wringing. “No Avatar!” Koori’s eyes welled with tears, threatening to spill; she bit her lip and remained startlingly silent, which was refreshing, but only marginally. “Apparently the only thing I _do _have is five traitors!”

“But, Commander.” The High Sage had the _audacity _to step forward. “Only Shyu helped the Avatar.”

Zhao didn’t give two fucks who Shyu was; he was far too mad to care, far too gone to give even the _remotest _of damns. “Save your stories for the Fire Lord,” he snarled, still squeezing, still wringing. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re _all _guilty. _Every. Last. One. _Of you.”

Each sage protested as guards grabbed their arms and bound their wrists, and Koori finally broke down under his touch, sobbing. Sniveling. He released her immediately, but the damage had been done. Each sage looked at her—stared at her.

Then one stepped forward despite his manacles and a rough shove that forced his knees to the floor. He looked up and gazed deep into Koori’s eyes. “You…” He quickly turned around to face his companions. “Don’t you see it? Can’t you tell?”

“Shyu—”

“Take them to the prison hold!” Zhao ordered.

But the sage started screaming. “Look at her! Can’t you see it?! Can’t you tell?! Look at her!”

“Gag him!”

A soldier tore off the sage’s sleeve. The silken wad was thrown into the man’s mouth, but still, he persisted. Still, he screamed. He tried to force words through the fabric, like they would still be decipherable, still make sense. “Durh ‘oni! Durh ‘oni!”

The rest of the sages looked—stared—but nobody said anything as they were shoved below deck, flailing and twisting away from the rough hands that drug them.

When the deck was finally clear and the volcanic island was long behind them, Zhao glared at his crew and unleashed an arcing wave of flames to push them back. “Get back to your posts!”

They did. Quickly. And Leo was at his side in milliseconds, reaching for Koori, reaching for _his_ slave. Zhao pulled her back and she stumbled away from the lieutenant until she was at her proper place, behind him.

“What was _that _all about?” Leo asked, looking at Koori, undoubtedly wondering what the sage had seen.

“That man is obviously insane,” Zhao growled, more than displeased. “Helping the Avatar, seeing _whatever _when looking at my slave. Textbook manic.”

“I don’t—”

“I’m returning Koori to my quarters. Make sure nothing blows up in my absence.”

Zhao turned and grabbed his slave’s arm. Pulled her close to his side and walked into the shadows of his conning tower. He shoved her up the stairs and into his room, and when they were safely behind his locked door, he threw her to the ground and unleashed wave after wave of thick fire.

Koori screamed, “No! No! No!”

But Zhao wasn’t listening. Wouldn’t care if he was, too. And when he finally exhausted himself, he looked at the damage he’d unleashed. Stared at the charred flesh and mutilated skin and exposed bone on his slave’s forearm.

She’d done her best to defend herself elsewhere, but her arm was destroyed from his heat. Mutilated by his fire. And she let him know how much it hurt when she dissolved into a fit of high-pitched shrieks and rocked back and forth on her knees, holding her shriveled ligament close to her chest, far, far away from him.

He took a step. Knelt. Grabbed her collar and shook her as hard as he dared. “Did you help them?!”

A flicker of confusion filled her otherwise anguished face. Words jittered on her tongue, strangled and mucus-soaked. “Wh-what—”

“Did you help them?!” He couldn’t stop screaming. Couldn’t stop shaking her. “Where did you go?! What did you _do?!”_

“Master!” Tears ran down her cheeks in rivulets thicker than the lava flows he’d just narrowly escaped. She cupped his wrists despite her wounds, despite how much it pained her to move. “Master—I-I don’t underst-stand!”

He threw her back and let her smash head-first into the steel floor below. She let out a weak gurgle before going unconscious, and Zhao couldn’t help but stare as her body responded on its own, mending. _Healing._

White fire flickered overtop her burn, grafting muscle and skin. Everything grew stuffy and smooth until it could be stitched together. And after a few minutes, it looked like nothing had ever happened. Like she’d never been maimed.

And even though she was unconscious, her face grew calm and her tears dried up. She looked strangely peaceful and haunted at the same time, and Zhao couldn’t help but punch the wall until he felt better.

He punched until his fists bled, then crouched and screamed into the air. He knelt there for minutes or hours—he honestly wasn’t sure—until he grew achy and stiff. Then he glanced at his window and saw the inky blackness of night dotted with crystalline stars, and stood.

Left.

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

He walked. He didn’t know where he was going or how long it would take him to get there, but it felt good to be out of his room. Away from his slave and away from his duties. Far from the hustle and bustle of life on deck and the stern realization that Koori _could’ve _helped the Avatar escape even though she had been thousands of yards away.

Zhao walked for a while, glancing at doors as he passed. Crewmembers were bunked in some, supplies were wedged in others, but regardless of who or what was inside, each door was sealed air-tight. It was quiet—startlingly so—and only an occasional whisper echoed down the steel hallway, words unintelligible, near undecipherable.

It was refreshing. Uplifting. _Such _a stark change from the chaos a few hours ago. And Zhao was calmed by it. Kept walking in it.

His footsteps came and went, and he didn’t know where he was headed, but he certainly wasn’t surprised in the least when he stumbled across the brig.

Two soldiers stood watch at the door. Both saluted as he neared.

Zhao nodded and they opened the door. He found himself walking before his newly-captured prisoners with his hands clasped behind his back, stance threatening and imposing even though he was still distracted, still not completely _there. _

All five prisoners scrambled to their feet, but Zhao only wanted to talk to one of them.

The only one that mattered—

“Shyu, correct?”

The sage was burdened with shackles on his wrists and ankles, but nodded after being addressed. He clinked with each subtle movement. “To what do I owe the pleasure, _Commander Zhao_?”

He said it like it was an insult. Like _he _wasn’t the one who’d just betrayed his nation and let the world’s most powerful child flitter out of his grasp. Like he didn’t understand the severity of war or the toll it’d taken on his nation as a whole. The cost, not just financially, but politically. Perhaps morally. Spiritually.

And Zhao thought he would’ve understood those high costs considering his position; but apparently, he’d been mistaken.

Regardless of Shyu’s questionable leniencies, Zhao was only there for one thing. “You looked at my slave and thought you saw something,” he said, glaring. “I want to know what you _thought _you saw.”

Shyu tilted his head. He took off his cap and wrung it until it was a tight wad betwixt his trembling fingers. “So you know,” he said, whispering, eyes growing wide.

Zhao’s glare shifted into a leer. “I don’t have much time or patience. Are you going to answer my question or not?”

The cap became dead weight in Shyu’s bound hands. “There’s something inside her. Something that isn’t human,” he said, eyes glittering. “It’s almost…otherworldly.”

“She has a spirit inside her.” The High Sage’s voice was like sandpaper in the air. Grating and hoarse. Old.

Zhao turned to address him. “Absolutely not,” he said. “And I think that _I’d _know, considering I own her. So it’d be best if you forget whatever you _thought _you saw.”

“Why?” The High Sage hobbled forward, clinking. He placed his hands on the bars of his cell and smirked. “Are you going to throw us in prison?”

“Yes.” Zhao’s response was clipped. Cold. “I’m going to send you all directly to the Fire Lord and accuse every single one of you of treason. Claim that each one of you played a vital part in helping the Avatar escape.”

“But—”

“And he’ll believe me, too. I have an entire ship filled with crewmembers who saw the Avatar escape after your temple collapsed.”

“But—”

“Though,” Zhao smirked, “I _could _tell our merciful leader that you tried your best to prevent the boy from contacting Avatar Roku. That he simply overpowered you after being aided by this idiot, over here.” His thumb pointed at Shyu, who glowered.

The High Sage chortled. “You can’t threaten us. We know the truth.”

“Yes,” Zhao said, nodding. “But which truth will the Fire Lord believe? Will he believe a group of spiritual leaders who’ve fought against him at every beck and call, or will he believe me, a grateful commander who’s earned him countless victories on land and sea?” A smile. “Fire Lord Sozin and Azulon may have tolerated your antiquity, but Fire Lord Ozai is a much more interesting obstacle.”

There was a pause. Then Shyu grumbled from behind. “Of course Ozai would believe _you.”_

Zhao turned and noted the man’s white-shaded knuckles. He’d been nervously wringing his hat again. “Yes, I suppose he would.” He turned back around and faced the High Sage. “I would like your answer before I send you to the palace. I’ll arrange your transfer pickup for the morning, so make haste in deciding what you’d like to do.”

He turned on his heel and walked to the door. He got about five paces away before—

“Wait!”

He stopped. Turned back around and fought to keep a smirk off his face.

The High Sage fumbled with his chains as he took a step left. His cloudy golden eyes were narrowed and filled with hate. Loathing. “The girl’s your slave, correct?”

Zhao smiled. “Yes.”

“Does she know?”

He frowned. When would they learn? “There is _nothing _special about her.”

The High Sage kept glaring. But after a moment, he opened his mouth. “I can tell you that whatever she’s got locked inside is unnaturally powerful, and I urge you caution. Don’t get attached. Keep her under lock and key. And whenever you have a spare moment,” he paused, “kill her.”

Shyu started screaming. “No! No! Don’t do that! _Don’t do that!”_

The High Sage continued, “Shyu helped the boy contact Avatar Roku. He also helped Prince Zuko escape.”

“I did no such—”

“That’s a nice touch,” Zhao said, nodding. Satisfied. “I’ll expect all of this in writing, of course.”

“Of course,” the High Sage agreed.

Zhao couldn’t hide his smile as he continued to the exit. But Shyu wasn’t happy; he started shouting. Started shrieking. Again.

“You need to protect her!” His screams reverberated. Vibrated and bounced through each cell and across each steel wall. “Do _not _keep her under lock and key! Do _not _kill her! Give her a chance! Show her love! Guide her—”

The brig’s door slammed closed and Zhao glared at the curious sentries. “Give the High Sage some parchment and a pen. And for Agni’s sake, _sedate _that belligerent priest.”

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

Zhao didn’t sleep much that night. And when he did, it was fitful. Enraged. Mostly because Koori wasn’t pressed against him, breath pitter-pattering across his chest as she tenderly embraced him.

No, she was still sprawled on the floor, very much unconscious. Breath almost nonexistent as she wheezed in what little air she could get.

He could change that, though. He could drag her onto the bed and clutch her close. But he couldn’t—wouldn’t. The thought of her against him, of her chilly flesh pressed tight against his warm skin…it sickened him. Made him angry enough to consider throttling her. Again.

He still didn’t know if she’d betrayed him. If she’d somehow helped the Avatar escape.

Because she _could, _whether she knew it or not. Somehow, in some way, she most definitely _could._

So he found himself awake most of the night, staring at the ceiling. Listening to rustling sheets as he struggled to seek comfort. And when he couldn’t find the solace he sought, he grumbled and thought.

Did Koori know what she had inside her? Did she know enough to help the boy and his companions escape? Did she play any roll in an entire building coming down atop his head as he fled, avoiding volcanic ash and lava as it poured from the floor?

Probably…not.

But he couldn’t be sure…

It was crazy, really. Thinking Koori knew more about herself than he did. He knew _everything _about her. From the intricacies of her ability, to the type of spirit living deep inside her (the sages hadn’t been wrong—they’d seen what she was hiding and probably knew exactly what spirit it was, too), to the way she secretly liked it when they spent hours discussing tactical strategy together, sometimes blowing through entire evenings when their conversations grew more complex.

He knew _all _of her secrets. _Everything. _Even the things she didn’t know he knew.

Like her distaste of mushrooms. Her abhorrence of gory literature. Her absolute revulsion of him, regardless of what she said or did. Her likes, dislikes, and her more intimate details—like how many freckles she had all over her body or her secret pleasure when he flicked her nipples with the tip of his tongue as he climaxed.

She couldn’t keep anything from him. So he knew—_he knew—_that she hadn’t been lying when she said she didn’t understand his line of questioning earlier.

He wriggled off his bed and lit a flame in his palm. Searched for his slave and found her within moments.

She looked calm. Like she was fast asleep and comfortable without him.

And it enraged him.

So he grabbed one arm and leg and hoisted her onto the bed. Stripped her bare and loomed overtop her naked, frail form, panting. Thinking.

A piece of him considered having his way with her. Taking her hard and fast so he could get out whatever was left of his rage. Grope, scratch, and maul her pale flesh until he felt better. Sated.

But she’d be no fun in her state.

She wouldn’t hit or plead or cry. Beg or scream or retaliate.

And that was half the entertainment, half the reason why he did what he did…so he opted against it.

He slid into the sheets beside her and pulled her close. Breathed in her scent, fondled her supple skin, and bit down on her shoulder just to make her wonder.

He closed his eyes, and though it took a while…he calmed and fell asleep.

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

Wind swept across the deck and the transfer ship chugged close. Zhao stood alert and ready as a member of the other ship’s crew extended a gangplank across the gap.

An officer started across—

And Zhao stared.

“Commander Zhao.” It was…a woman. She smiled and bowed and pressed her hand against a hip covered in Fire Nation armor. And Zhao couldn’t help but look her over.

Pale. Short. Dirt-brown eyes and pursed lips. She would’ve passed for commonly pretty if she didn’t have a thin scar running down the side of her face and neck; it disappeared in her collar and he wondered how far it went…and what caused it.

He looked down. Her chest denoted her rank—lieutenant—and she wore her mousey-brown hair in a wispy half-knot. She smiled _again _when he completed his inspection, and Zhao was starting to find her familiarity annoying. Maybe a tad bit unnerving, too.

“I’ve heard _all _about you.” She bowed again, less formal than before. Like it wasn’t the first time they’d met. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Um—” He wasn’t usually speechless and he found himself in uncharted territory. Then immediately corrected himself. “Do I know you?”

“No, sir.” She was _still _smiling. Why was she still smiling? “But I’m Lieutenant Zan and my ship is ready to transfer your prisoners to the Fire Lord.”

“Ah. I was expecting Admiral Akira.”

The woman blushed and Zhao had no idea _why. “_I’m afraid he’s presently occupied, but he sends his regrets.” A pause. “He sent me in his place. I hope you’re not disappointed.”

“No.” Zhao shook his head and couldn’t help but smirk. “I can’t say that I’m disappointed.”

“Well, that’s nice.” Another smile.

“Hm-hm.” Leo cleared his throat and stepped forward. He gestured behind him, where the sages were tethered together with varying levels of misery across their faces.

The High Sage was in front and his scowl stretched the length of his wrinkled face. There was parchment and a pen wedged in his hand, and he extended them for Zhao to take.

He did. And perused the contents of the letter.

“Satisfied?” the man grumbled.

“Very,” Zhao said, rolling it back up. He directed his attention to the female officer. “Lieutenant Zan.” She perked up at her name, like a pet receiving praise. “Take the Fire Sages to the royal palace. I’m sure that our gracious leader will be _very _interested to hear why Shyu betrayed his country for an airbending child.”

“It would be my honor.” Zan saluted and smiled. _Again. _And Zhao handed her the scroll, anxious to be rid of her.

Everybody sans Zhao and Leo walked across the gangway, and Zhao shrunk back to look at his lieutenant. “Who the hell was she?”

Leo shrugged. “If the rumors are true, she’s Admiral Akira’s former Earth Kingdom slave. They say he favored her enough to enlist her into the navy and is grooming her personally.”

“Earth Kingdom?” Zhao asked.

Leo nodded.

“Well that’s unusual.” His gaze slid skyward, to the empty window that was his quarters. “A former slave, huh?”

“It’s just a rumor, sir,” Leo said, eyes narrowing. Like he _knew._ “And the first step to that would be to set her free.” He turned on his heel and walked into the conning tower.

“That’s just ridiculous,” Zhao muttered to himself.

He took a moment to stare at Zan’s ship as it departed, then snorted. Then he followed Leo into the conning tower and raced up six flights of stairs so he could talk to the helmsman.

It was time to rejoin the blockade. Time for things to return back to normal.


	6. The Storm

It’d been two weeks since the Winter Solstice, two weeks since she’d been burned so badly that she could see charred bone beneath destroyed skin. Two weeks since she’d been slammed head-first onto a steel floor until forced unconscious. Two weeks since she’d woken up naked with crescent-shaped markings on her shoulder—evidence that she’d been bitten.

She never talked about it and never questioned if things had escalated further while she’d been unconscious. Because sometimes, it was best to remain ignorant of whatever her master did. Sometimes, it was best to simply...leave things alone.

Forget.

Mostly because she still didn’t understand what had happened.

But maybe she wasn’t supposed to know.

Maybe she wasn’t supposed to understand why Zhao had asked her where she’d been. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to know why Zhao thought she’d been able to help the Avatar, despite being unconscious on the deck of his own ship, hundreds—no, thousands—of yards away.

Maybe it was best if she forgot about that encounter, entirely. Especially since he’d never brought it up in the two weeks that had occurred since then.

But still, it irked her. Not the bite on her shoulder—she was used to those—but the fact that Zhao had punished her. Punished her very, very severely for an act she didn’t understand.

Zhao was many, many things—cruel, neglectful, easy to anger, callous, vain, demeaning, and so much more—but he wasn’t unfair. To her, at least. _Usually. _He’d always been a fan of physical punishment, but he never usually did so without cause. Never usually took things away or destroyed her flesh without proper reason.

And to go so far—to burn so much of her skin until she could see bone within her own body—he must’ve thought she’d done something terrible. Something absolutely horrid and worth such an unforgiving abuse.

But she hadn’t. Not as far as she could tell.

Because all she could remember was one second being upright and listening to Leo, and the next…nothing. Then, struggling within the confines of Leo’s arms, trying to get out as soldiers from all directions gaped at her as she lay sprawled against the steel floor.

It’d been unpleasant to wake up like that. And it’d continued to get _more _unpleasant when those Fire Sages looked at her. Judged her. Then claimed to _see _something, whatever that meant.

Her master had been right—that man _had to have _been insane. Textbook manic.

But something kept prickling at the back of her head, telling her to pay attention. To listen. Watch. And most importantly—

Be careful.

And she didn’t know what it meant, and didn’t understand it in the least.

So she huffed for the umpteenth time and readjusted the book on her lap. Read the same line again and again and again, never picking up how Fire Lord Sozin managed to secure a victory at the Battle of Han Tui—something about being outnumbered and utilizing a drought…maybe—and she knew her master would be upset if she couldn’t recite it verbatim, but—

The book hit the wall and she let out another frustrated sigh.

It was no use. He’d figure out a way to scold her, regardless. And he’d be back soon, according to the waning sun barely peeking through the window, so why bother.

One hand rubbed the back of her neck and the other sought the discarded book. She laid it flat and tried again.

And again and again and again, to no avail. Then—

_Squeak!_

The door opened, and Zhao walked inside with a piece of parchment lodged in his hand. He was fervently reading, hazel irises flicking up and down the page without pause. Then there was a smile, a very rare, very frightening display of joy. And he looked up.

“Ah,” he said as he stepped over her scrunched up form against the floor. “I see you’ve completed your chores and have moved on to…”

She didn’t want to admit it, but, “The Battle of Han Tui.”

“Excellent.” Another smile, this one less genuine and more sadistic. He always got sickeningly pleasant whenever they discussed modern tactics and ancient battle strategies—he adored them, and she was…admittedly decent at them. So it was a mutual interest, but mostly because he demanded she study it. “And what have you learned?”

It wasn’t appropriate to remain silent and it wasn’t acceptable to lie. There was only one option—tell the truth—but it was hard to say aloud. “Not much, I’m afraid,” she admitted after two seconds too long. She looked at the book, then away. Looked at him—he was glowering—then back at the book. She wanted to look at _anything, anywhere, _as long as it wasn’t at him.

There was a long, reflexive silence. Then, “And why not?”

Koori bit her bottom lip. Nuzzled on it, just like he liked. Then, “If feel…distracted?”

It was more of a question than an answer, but Zhao accepted it with a snarl.

“Distracted.” He furled his scroll and placed it on his desk. Pulled out his chair and sat while his glower morphed into a sneer. “Distracted, how?”

“Just with unimportant things,” she said, not quite lying but not quite telling the truth. “Things that don’t matter.”

He leaned forward and balanced his elbows on his knees. Steepled his fingers and blinked. “Like?”

Bringing up the events of two weeks ago wasn’t in her best interest, so it was better to bring up something else, something she usually asked for when he was in a good mood. “I was just wondering when we’d dock again.”

A snort. “So you can escape again?”

“No.” Her face scrunched as he recoiled and crossed his arms. “I was hoping you and I could go for a walk.”

“A walk?” She nodded. “Well, Sweetheart, that sounds like a _reward_.”

His tone turned her words to ash. “I know, but—”

“And little slaves who don’t learn the Battle of Han Tui don’t _get _rewards.”

“I-I—”

“So.” Another smile filled his face as he leaned forward in his chair. “If you tell me what happened—” He snatched the book from her hands and opened the dog-eared page. “—I’ll consider it.”

He expected her to recite the words verbatim. Expected her to know every single detail, no matter how insignificant. But Koori could barely remember who it was about, let alone the circumstances of the skirmish.

“Fire Lord Sozin?” she said, tone questioning because it was the best guess she could think of—_most _of the books in Zhao’s library were about Sozin or Azulon or Ozai and their like, so it was a safe to assume that it was about one of those three.

“Good guess,” he said with a smirk.

A second passed and he rolled his wrist, waving his hand. He was already growing impatient.

“Something about a drought?”

He snapped the book closed. “Koori, Koori, Koori,” he said, tutting. “You’re unlike most slaves. You know that, right?”

No. No, she did not. She’d never met another one and rarely got to go outside. But it wasn’t the time to voice her opinion or argue. It was time to listen.

Zhao examined the spine of his book and continued. “Most slaves don’t get the opportunity to read, write, or learn. And yet—” He paused and shelved his book. “And yet, _you can._ And do you know _why _I’ve allowed you to learn skillsets denied to most?”

Yes. She knew the answer to that question. “To help you during—”

“_Wrong._” He spat out the word like she’d just said filth. “_I _know all of these things.” He pointed to the bookshelves high above his desk, then to himself. “_I’ve _read every single one of these books. _I’ve _studied each page, scribbled down notes, and benefited from their lessons. So _I _need help from _nobody.” _

He sat back down and glowered. “_You_, however, don’t know every battle or trivial scuffle. You don’t understand our rich heritage or its importance to the world. But within these pages, you can get a taste of how superior we are and the contributions we can make. You can get a glimpse of the important role we play in this war.”

Koori wanted to comment on what he’d said—ask him how studying more than a century’s worth of military history could prove valuable when it very obviously hadn’t benefited them so far—but thought it best to remain steadfastly silent. Except, “Yes, Master.”

“Now,” Zhao hummed, “the Battle of Han Tui…Fire Lord Sozin won it because he was a brilliant strategist. He had fewer men than our Earth Kingdom foes and significantly less resources. But the mud rats were downwind and there’d been a drought. Their defenses may as well have been rice paper within our blaze.”

He always said it like he was there—like it was a part of him—but Koori never understood why. Yes, she had Fire Nation blood in her veins and Agni’s great gift, but she never felt _connected _to her people the way Zhao did. Though, she’d never felt like she belonged _anywhere; _even more so after being thrust into slavery at the tender age of four.

“Consider your reward wholeheartedly denied.”

She wasn’t disappointed. Honestly, she wasn’t. But it was hard to keep her expression steady. Zhao must’ve noticed, because he picked up the scroll he’d been reading earlier and tossed it into her lap.

“Read it,” he said.

She did.

And as she read it, her eyes grew wide. Golden orbs stretched further and further open, not believing. Not comprehending—

“Fire Lord Ozai desires an audience with me,” Zhao said.

Any other person in the Fire Nation would’ve quivered at such a request, but Zhao appeared enamored. Delighted, even. And he could barely hide his joy, so she did her best to bask in it. Revel in it.

She smiled.

Regardless of the dread in the pit of her stomach, regardless of the rumors Zhao often touted about how people went into Ozai’s throne room, never to return, she smiled. Because he seemed genuinely excited for the opportunity to have the Fire Lord’s ear attuned to his words and eyes affixed to him, no matter the reason for his summons.

“Do you know why?” she asked with the briefest hesitation.

Zhao’s smile dimmed. “I don’t, actually.” He perked back up. “But I can only assume it’s because of those treacherous priests. I know that he’s hated them for a while, so he’s probably going to commend me for dousing their necessity.” He grinned. “I sense a promotion in my future.”

“Another one? So soon?”

He’d _just _gotten one, and it’d taken more than a decade of cunning, long hours, and hard-fought victories to get it—all of which, Koori saw first-hand. The long hours and hard-fought nights had been particularly troublesome since he was often in a sour mood, but he always seemed to come out on top. _Somehow, _he always got his way. Sometimes it was because he rallied his troops in _just _the right way, and other times…well, there was poison involved, but she wasn’t supposed to know about _those _instances.

But she did…because she was often his test subject. And it wasn’t hard to connect the pieces when Leo regaled her with the ship’s latest gossip during their one-sided lunch conversations, oftentimes describing symptoms opposing officers had that usually matched her own.

Zhao frowned. “I _deserve _it, don’t you think?”

There was only one acceptable answer. “Of course, Master. Nobody is more worthy of the Fire Lord’s praise.”

“Damn right.” He readjusted his chair and grabbed a pen and some paper. He wrote his reply with a meticulous eye, stopping and starting, scratching out and crumpling pages and passages that didn’t suit him. And when he was finally done, he left for the topmost floor, where the hawks and important communiques were kept, safe and secure.

Koori, meanwhile, grabbed the book she’d been reading…and tried again.

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

It was hard to stay focused after talking to the High Sage. All he could think about lately was what the old man had said: _Don’t get attached. Keep her under lock and key. And whenever you have a spare moment…kill her._

It kept circling about his head, much like the temple’s stairs.

It was hard to stay in the now—hard to put all his attention on his blockade and long-lasting triumph—and it was getting harder and harder as the days waned, then passed.

Because all he thought about lately…was her.

Their many, many years together. How she grew up within the confines of his quarters, rarely scouring the outside world without him (wherein the few times she did, she was running full-force, unable to pay proper attention to her surroundings as she fled). How they’d gotten closer and closer during the most recent four years, with nary a night where they weren’t entangled in each other’s arms, kissing, whispering, moaning—and occasionally screaming—as sex brought their closeness to an epic apex.

He wouldn’t say that he was attached, but it was the closest he’d ever been with someone. Yes, he’d been with prostitutes and captured Earth Kingdom noblewomen, but they were little more than one-night, lust-filled moments of fun.

With Koori, it’d been…different. And he had a feeling that it was because _she _was different.

Filled with a spirit who harbored a skill unseen in decades, hidden from the world for so long until he’d found it. Captured it. Trained it…

All for his benefit, of course.

Like her literacy.

It wasn’t normal for a slave to read or write. But at the time—and even now—it was beneficial.

Koori had been six when he’d first taught her. She was six—a _child—_and a constant bother. She’d play on the floor by his feet and _incessantly_ whisper crude tales about a dragon, prince, and princess. She’d _whoosh _and cajole and laugh at the story’s ever-demure conclusion, then he’d look at her—berate her—and she’d apologize while he scoffed and glared.

At first, he’d taught her because he was frustrated with her noise. He’d taught her because he didn’t know how many times he’d have to say _stop that_ to a child before he’d get carried away and set her ablaze.

And though the interaction and reasoning started off in frustration, it morphed into anything but.

Because Koori was a delight when she learned. She was quiet and studious and always eager to please. She’d recite her work or practice her characters with fine skill and poise, then expect praise. Sometimes, she earned it; sometimes, she deserved a flick on the ear.

He’d taught her to read and write and commit every word, character, and meaning to memory. And she’d grown insatiable over the years. So hungry for knowledge that his library grew and grew until it burst entirely. Then it had to be shuffled around with his existing collection back home, changing every few months when they returned to his estate for a brief sojourn.

She used to smile as she read, she used to mouth near-silent words at his feet as he worked. She used to lean over his shoulder and read his plans, then comment on them, oftentimes _improve _on them. But now—very obviously—she was as distracted as he was.

Unable to read—unable to focus—she wasn’t herself.

And neither was he…

Hawks chittered as he entered the aviary. They squawked and preened and cajoled until he plucked one from its cage and sent it off. It flew high into the horizon and vanished into whatever was left of the sun and burgeoning clouds. Then the clouds grew dark and foreboding and lightning crackled in the air.

And Zhao knew that he couldn’t be distracted for the havoc they were about to experience, and he _tsk_ed.

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

It grew increasingly difficult to read.

The ship lurched from side to side and back to front as the ocean swelled beneath it. Then it pitched forward and sent Koori flying, and she knew what was happening—

A storm.

A bad one, too.

There wasn’t time to think about it. She gathered up everything she could and tied it down.

She ran across Zhao’s quarters and shoved displayable items into his bolted-down desk. She affixed the security strap over the spines of his books and latched his desk chair in place. She inspected his bed—made sure it wouldn’t budge even though it was a steel, platform-styled model—and made sure his mattress was safely tucked into its metal groove.

She disappeared into the bathroom and made sure his towels were put away. Then checked that their toothbrushes, toothpaste, and hairbrushes were properly stored behind the latched mirror.

And when all was said and done, she looked around. The only belonging not affixed yet…was her.

But she didn’t have a spot, didn’t have an appropriate place to hole up and hide. And she careened across the room when the ship volleyed from one side to the other, smashed into the ground as it pitched up, up, up, then down, down, down.

Her stomach rolled and threatened to empty. Then it did just that after she carefully made it to the toilet.

Then the ship did it again and again and again, and her stomach—and self—flipped with it.

It felt like it lasted for hours and days, but it was only a few minutes. And when the ship leveled out and Koori weakly scrambled onto her feet, the main door of Zhao’s quarters opened with a harsh-sounding _squeal_, and Zhao walked inside.

“Master!” She ran for him and wrapped her arms around his waist. It was a rare, tender embrace because she was scared and he was familiar. But he did not return it, which was unusual, and she looked up. “Is it over?”

“No.” He grasped her forearms and pried her off. “Unfortunately, we’re in the eye.”

“Oh. Well—”

“I’ve instructed the helmsman to stay in the eye for as long as he can. We’ll wait the storm out for a bit and hope that it weakens. Unfortunately, though, it means that we won’t be able to return to the homeland until tomorrow afternoon, assuming we’re lucky.” He paused and scratched the back of his neck. “But the safety of the crew is my top priority, and we can’t be too hasty in these conditions.”

It was rare for him to say such things aloud, so Koori beamed. “So what’re you doing back?”

“Well—” Zhao dug into the hollow pits of his armor and untied a plate. Then two. Koori followed suit and helped. “—I need a little bit of rest before we face whatever is left of this monstrosity. So I’m here to sleep, then leave when needed.”

“Ah. Well that’s—” _Horrible. _“—excellent.”

Zhao grinned, but definitely noticed her pause. “Is my presence bothering you, Sweetheart? Would you rather be alone?”

A smile filled her face, fake and practiced. “Of course not, Master. I’m just ready to be done with this storm.”

“Aren’t we all?” He rolled his eyes and took off his boots. Then sat on the bed and patted the empty spot next to him.

He expected her to be there, to lay with him as he fell asleep. And she quickly crawled into bed beside him. Clutched onto him and sought the odd, familiar comfort he sometimes unleashed.

It was like he knew, too. Because his arms wrapped around her waist and held her tight.

And slowly, they fell asleep.

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

Koori woke up with a garbled shriek as the ship jerked violently backward. Zhao was gone—had left the moment he felt needed—and left her behind to continue sleeping.

The ship pitched forward and lightning flashed across the room’s only window, sending spider vein-sized cracks of light into each dimly-lit corner. It was a startlingly sickening display, but Koori stared for a moment, then drew her knees to her chin—

And cried.

The storm hadn’t scared her into tears; it was the dream she’d had. Memories from so, so long ago that very rarely entered her slumber and made her uncomfortably sad when she woke.

Dreams about her mama. Dreams about her papa.

Her mother’s silky voice whispering to her as she woke, “_Sweetheart, it’s time to wake up.”_

And her whimsically sleepy reply. “_Mama!”_

The dreams got worse and worse as they went on, like snippets of her past, stolen from her and played on loop until they drew achingly hard to bear.

_“Mama loves you.”_

_“I love you too, Mama.”_

_“We have plenty to do today, Sweetheart.”_

_“Can I help?”_

_“Oh, yes. I would expect nothing less.”_

Images of a smile filled with love. Feelings of a kiss to her forehead, lips filled with joy. Then the feeling of staggering out of bed with shortened limbs, shuddering as blanket-warmed toes touched a cold wooden floor.

Koori closed her eyes and willed the dream away. But it lingered and enveloped and she quickly found herself lost within its embrace.

“_Can I wake up Papa?”_

_“Let him sleep, Sweetheart.” There were snores nearby. “We have other chores, first.”_

_They always had other things to do. Other matters to tend to before waking up her father. And when the shadows of their house morphed into the greenery of the outside, Koori paid it no heed. It was usual. Expected._

_Her mother’s hand wrapped around hers as they walked through their village’s earthen streets. She could feel a slight breeze caress her cheeks and fondle her hair as they traipsed closer and closer to the expansive green tents dotting the horizon._

_The road dipped, then flattened, and they entered an Earth Kingdom encampment, looking oddly out of place and strangely put together in a war-torn land._

_Men in green armor approached. One dipped his head in greeting and led them deeper inside. “Thank you for coming on such short notice,” he said. “We were ambushed last night and several of our troops require immediate treatment.”_

_Her mother placed a hand on the man’s shoulder and clasped it tight. Her voice was so soft and caring, nurturing and kind. “Of course.” She smiled. “My daughter and I are more than happy to help.”_

_Koori looked skyward and beamed at the men, but their eyes glossed over her for the briefest moments before returning to her mother or their superior._

_They walked to a tent and guards on either side of the flap opened it for them, weapons held aloft and ready as they protected their wounded and dying. And when they were finally inside, her mother set to work, analyzing which soldier required immediate treatment from the ones who could wait. Making sure men with gashes and innards spewing out came before those with sprains or scrapes and slight singes. _

_And after she gathered her patients and prepared the ones who were still conscious, she pulled a moleskin pouch from her side and drew water into her palm._

_The water glowed a magnificent, translucent white and trickled across marred flesh. It began to heal every wound, swirling and whooshing over each ligament and orifice until everything was returned to its normal, undamaged appearance. Then she moved on to the next patient and started again._

_And again and again and again until most of them men were healed._

_The few that remained…were burned._

_Her mother smiled overtop the man she was finishing up. “Koori, sweetheart,” she said. “Would you like to try?”_

_Koori filled with pride and confidence, then nodded. “Yes, Mama.”_

_Her mother’s smile grew. “Okay. How about that one, over there?” She nudged her head left and Koori’s eyes followed before she scampered to her patient and knelt overtop him. _

_Her fingers splayed over his mutilated shoulder and she sucked in a breath. Then flames poured out of her palms, white and sizzling, but without heat. She pressed her hands against his skin and—_

_“Get **off **of me, you heathen!”_

_—was shoved violently backward._

_She landed a few feet away, sprawled haphazardly in the lap of a freshly-healed earthbender. But the man had seen her flames and offered no mercy. He snatched her hair in his fingers—pulled it taught—and sunk her feet into the floor._

_Koori screamed and chaos ensued, wherein she was the target. She—a little girl of four—was the enemy._

_But before anybody could get too close, water whipped out and forced everybody three steps back._

_Her mother stepped forward with murder in her eyes. Her posture commanded respect and her voice demanded compliance. “Release my daughter.”_

_Koori’s captor looked up and sneered, then earth cracked apart at her feet and the hold on her hair lessened. Her mother stepped forward and collected her—sniffling, tears burgeoning, grasping, and hugging—into her arms and walked out, leaving a few of the men untreated and grumbling._

_Sweet shushes filled Koori’s ears as she sniffled into the blue fabric of her mother’s kimono. A hand smoothed her unkempt hair and she felt earth under her feet. Her mother's retreated, then she wrapped her fingers around hers._

_They started trekking back to the village, but before they could get too far, Koori looked up and wiped tears from her cheeks. “Mama, wha’sa heathen?”_

_Her mother’s lips pinched together. Tight. Then she opened them and said, “Something you’re not, Sweetheart.”_

_The response didn’t answer her question, but maybe she’d learn, in time. Like so many other things in life, maybe all she needed to do was grow up a bit._

_It was like when the other kids called her **ash-maker**. She hadn’t known what it meant until she knew what ashes were. Then she understood and nodded along with their chants. It was true, because of her abilities, she could make ashes. And though the word had never bothered her, the children’s tone—and later, their actions—did. _ _It'd taken a while, but she learned that **ash-maker **wasn’t very nice. And she quickly found out which children to avoid._

_So maybe a heathen was similar. Maybe she’d find out what a heath— or an –en was and understand._

_Maybe it was friendly, maybe it wasn’t. But with the way the soldier had thrown her back, she had a sinking feeling it was the latter._

_There was silence. Then, “Why don’t you run ahead and collect something pretty for me, hmm?”_

_Oh! Koori liked doing that. She liked getting pretty flowers that reminded her of Mama and Papa—silky lilacs and jagged tiger lilies, bright tulips and prickly wild roses. So she scrambled ahead—well beyond her mother’s sight—and searched._

_Near, far, here, and there, she scoured the trampled, sometimes scorched earth for unique buds and shiny pebbles. She bent over twisted branches and looked behind gnarled trees, and then, just as she was walking into a barren meadow—_

_She tripped—“Omph!”—and landed face-first, into the dirt._

_She scrambled onto her feet and brushed off her legs. Then looked at what had caused her to fall…_

_And froze._

_A man. An **injured **man._

_His left leg was all-but destroyed, nothing but a charred mass of seeping, pink ooze and bone, and his Earth Kingdom armor laid spread all about, tossed and mangled and singed to an ungodly color. There were bandages littering the ground, spread about like his armor, and he was breathing—he was **conscious**—and he opened his hazel eyes and let out an uncomfortable, pained chuckle. Then closed them when the effort proved too much._

_“You need help,” Koori whispered, crawling closer to him._

_“Yes,” he croaked as he opened his eyes again, “I suppose I do.”_

_Koori bit her bottom lip and looked for her mother. But Mama wasn’t there and with how far she’d run ahead, she wouldn’t be in her sight anytime soon…_

_“I can help you,” she mumbled, eyeing the burn._

_“Could you?” He let out another hiss and a flicker of a smile creased his lips._

_“Um-hmm.” _

_Koori held out her trembling hands and took a breath. Then flames poured out, white and flickering and soothing, and touched his destroyed flesh. They danced and healed—stitched everything together—then settled when the man was good as new. And when they puttered out, she sat on her feet and plucked a blade of grass. Then two. _

_“All better,” she said with a grin._

_The man looked down and smiled. “Fascinating,” he said as he wiggled his toes. When everything worked as expected, he looked at her. “You sure are special.”_

_Koori couldn’t help it; her smile grew and grew. “Thank you.”_

_“So tell me,” he said, “where’s your—”_

_“Koori!”_

_Her mother rounded the tree with her moleskin pouch clenched tight, fingers pinching the cork. Her expression was filled with motherly protection and malice, and Koori backed away from the man, unsure._

_But he simply stood and brushed off what was left of his pants. Held out his hand and let a debonair smile fill his face. “You must be the mother,” he said._

_“Yes.” Her mother didn't release her pouch. “And who’re you?”_

_The man’s smile quirked up on one side and he dipped his head, revealing a tangled mess of an unkempt topknot. “The name’s Zhao.”_

_“Well.” Her mother extended a hand for her peoples’ traditional greeting, and Zhao stared at it for a moment before doing the same. They clasped forearms and shook. “Nice to meet you.”_

_“The pleasure is mine,” Zhao said, still grinning. “Entirely.”_

_Her mother smiled, but it wasn’t genuine. Merely polite. “We have to get going,” she said._

_“But Mama—”_

_Her mother grabbed her wrist. “I’m sure this man has work he needs to get back to.”_

_“Ah. Yes,” Zhao said. “Most definitely.” He gave each of them a slight bow and ambled up the road, leaving his tattered armor and strewn bandages behind._

_“What a strange man…” her mother said when he was out of earshot._

_“Mama?” Her mother looked down. “Can we go home?”_

_“Of course, Sweetheart.” She nodded. “Let’s go.”_

Koori rocked back and forth, matching the ship’s sway. The storm still wasn’t over yet, and neither was her dream. But she couldn’t bear to continue reliving her trauma—couldn’t bear to hear her mother’s and father’s screams as they pleaded for her life. Couldn’t bear to hear the cackle of the man she’d saved and led to her home. And she couldn’t bear to see the pools of blood or the halved and smoldering bodies of her neighbors as she fled down her village’s dirt streets.

And then, just when she thought she was going to empty the contents of her stomach—again—the ocean swelled, then leveled. And the ship steadied itself in calm, storm-less waters.

And after a bit, Zhao returned, looking haggard and craving a good night’s rest. He crawled into bed and didn’t question why she was awake or red-eyed and trembling. Merely wrapped his meaty arm around her torso and pulled her against him.

He breathed in her scent, tasted her skin…and took off his clothes.

Then hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forewarning, the next chapter will pick up right where this one left off. So expect our first bit of absolute, gut-wrenching nastiness.


	7. Vanity Project

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are uncomfortable with rape from the rapist's POV, please skip the first section.

He liked it rough. And he liked giving it rough, too.

But Koori…did not.

And she let it known. Every. Time.

She screamed and bawled, hit and scratched. She fought with more vigor and tenacity than he dare believed she had, then wailed and clawed and swore. And when she _somehow _managed to knee his chin, he retaliated with a single flaming slash across her waist, singeing her fair flesh with a blackened, bubbling sear.

She howled at that. Thrashed at that. And when her tears grew annoying—when her screeches and scratches grew more frustrating than he could bear—he pinned her arms down and screamed into her face. “What is _wrong _with you today?”

But she didn’t answer. Just screamed, “No! No! No! Stop! Stop! Stop!”

But Zhao didn’t take orders from his slave. _She _listened to _him, _and he didn’t have plans on changing that situation anytime soon. So he maneuvered her arms around until he could gather both of her hands within one of his, then grabbed her chin and shook it.

She looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. Sniveled at him with a trembling bottom lip. But he had more important things to think about than whatever was addling her, and frankly, he didn’t mind her tears. He didn’t care about her mucus.

So he reached above his bed and drug a manacle across his silken sheets. But she saw it, she feared it, and she unleashed another foul wail and another wild wriggle. But her protests were fruitless and he clamped the iron around her wrist. He made sure it was locked tight. Then—

Continued.

A hand over her breast, fingertips brushing her nipple. It hardened and puckered and he unleashed a primal growl before succumbing to the sexual beast within.

His lips sought hers and he muffled her shrieks with his tongue. Then he wrestled with her and moaned into her. Breathed into her and cupped her face to keep her still.

Then, he kept kissing. Kept roaming.

Everything grew hot and wet and sweaty and engorged, and Zhao took a moment to retreat so he could pilfer his nightstand.

He sought lube and toys. And he pulled out everything he’d need. Everything he could use. And he laid them all out in order of his desired use, making sure his little slave saw. Making sure she knew what he wanted.

And when she grasped his plan—knew where their evening was headed—she screamed out, “No! No, _please, _Master! _Please!_”

But it just made him want it more.

_Squirt!_

Lube slid around his palm until it calmed and warmed between his fingers. Then he cupped his hand and fought her squirming legs. He pinned her down with an ankle and a hand, then spread his heat and the lube’s slick wet against her smooth nether lips.

She whimpered when he slipped a finger inside. Moaned when the pad of his thumb circled her clit. Then she let out a breath when he pressed his girth against her. Let out a gasp when he slid inside her.

He paused.

Breathed.

Then groaned.

She felt so tight around him. So tight and slick and smooth and warm. And his eyes rolled to the back of his head as she wriggled under him. Tried to get away from him.

But it was all for naught. Her struggles only heightened his senses. Her squirms only increased his desire. And when her only free hand pressed tight against his peck, he grabbed her wrist and pushed it down.

Then, he began.

In, out. In, out. Clockwise, then counterclockwise. Then in, out. In, out.

Each penetration was a whole new experience. Each gyration was a whole new awakening.

There were smells and sensations and sights he wanted. There were tears and scratches and pleads he ignored. There was skin against skin and wet-sounding _smacks. _There was sweat on his lips and hair in his mouth. There were hands on breasts and fingertips kneading nipples. There were twists—there were jerks—and just when he thought he could take no more—

He grunted, “_Ugh!”_

And she screamed.

He couldn’t blame her, though. Because when he pulled out, he could feel the steam—he could feel his heat—and he shushed her with another bout of hard kisses. Quieted her with another round of tender squeezes.

But still, she cried. Still, she fought.

She wept and sniffled and kicked and clawed, and when the steam eventually dissipated, she calmed and twisted her head back and away from him.

“You know I’m not done with you,” he said with a tickle.

She wriggled away from his hand and clenched her teeth and fists. Then she swiped at him with the hand he’d left free and cursed him when he laughed into her hair.

Her words meant nothing and her qualms didn’t matter. All that held worth was _his_ wants. _His_ desires.

And if he wanted her to squirm…she’d better squirm.

He’d wanted to use toys, but suddenly decided against them. Because if she was going to get so riled at the threat of her pleasure, he’d show her what he could do without them. He’d show her what he could elicit with just his fingers, lips, and tongue.

So he kissed down.

Down her neck and between her breasts. Down her tummy and over her cum-slickened mound.

Then he licked—just once—and felt her shudder against his lips.

He drew her legs over his shoulders and dipped down low. Licked again—once more—and heard her moan, then felt her jerk. He gave her a peck and a suck and tasted his own release while she quaked beneath him. Then his tongue spurt forth and his fingers delved inside.

And then…she couldn’t help but move with him. Beg for him.

Her free hand clasped his topknot and pulled until the binding sprang free. Then she sought his unbound hair and pulled it taught and tried to yank him high.

But he was stronger than her—could tolerate more than her—and he tore her hand out of his hair without breaking his stride. Then held her down without sacrificing his rhythm.

She screamed—“No, no, no!”—but moved against him. Moved with him. And he couldn’t help but go faster. Faster.

His tongue jutted left, right, up, and down. And his fingers went in, out, around, and back.

Her hips shook against his lips and her legs quaked atop his shoulders. Her hands wound deep into his sheets and her face pressed tight against the pillow. And then—

She let loose.

He felt her muscles spasm against his fingers and tasted the sweetness of her release against her clit. She writhed and groaned and grew eerily still, then she released her hold on his sheets and let her breathing slow.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

She cried.

And as she sobbed, he peppered sticky-sweet kisses up her stomach and across her breasts. Then he licked up her shoulder and across one cheek.

He tasted her tears. They were salty but strangely honeyed and they slipped down his throat with their usual soothing vigor. He lapped them up until gone, then pulled her close and breathed in her hair.

She squirmed within his arms and sought to be rid of him. But he held her tight and growled, “If you keep it up, I’ll want another round.”

She stopped.

He smiled.

Then he flipped her around and grabbed her behind. Pulled it toward him…

…and began anew.

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

Koori woke up to hands on her shoulders; they weren’t hers—and they were definitely _not _Zhao’s—and they grasped, then shook.

“Koori.” There was a whisper. “Sunshine, wake up.”

It was the nickname that gave the voice’s owner away. A nickname uttered long ago, somewhat forgotten over the years as she grew up. And though her father had been its first user, somebody else had adopted it. Molded it into his own and later abandoned it—Leo.

And when she opened her eyes to greet him, all she felt was pain.

In her wrist, in her midsection, in her forearms, thighs, neck, and shoulders.

Then she looked down and felt—

Humiliated.

She was…naked.

Sheets splayed far, far away, with one bruised wrist chained to a bracket welded on the wall. She pulled—Agni have mercy, she pulled—but the manacle didn’t budge, and she couldn’t reach the blankets. Her binding merely clanked and drew more attention to her, and she silently swore vengeance on it, then tried to reach the blanket with her toes.

_There!_

She gripped it and drew it across the bed. Then wrapped herself up as best she could, as quick as she could. And when she looked up—saw that Leo wasn’t looking at her, but at the wall—she calmed. But she still felt unnerved that he’d seen her. That he’d stood there for however long while he tried to wake her.

“You’ve been out for a while.” Leo still wasn’t looking at her, but his faraway gaze wasn’t comforting. Neither were his words. “Do you remember what happened?”

There were a lot of fuzzy pieces she truly wished she couldn’t recall, but yes. She remembered it all.

Half-screamed words and near-whispered pleads. Fire that scalded and a smell that permeated. Hands that groped until skin purpled beneath them and callouses that scratched. Lips that crushed and teeth that bit, bit, then bit some more. Tresses that tickled and hair that poked. Muscles that overpowered hers and skin pressed tight. The dizzying sound of squelches that seemed far too intimate, then a moan…and later, a groan as slippery, blistering juices filled her up.

There’d been exhausted puffs, then the enormity of his weight against her. Hot exhales on her skin and the tingle of his hand against her stomach. There’d been a scent she could practically taste—even now—and the knowledge that her pain would never cease. A confirmation that it would get worse, that he wasn’t done—

And…and…

She didn’t want to remember more.

Because she hated when he did that. Hated when he made her writhe beneath his ministrations.

It left her confused and vulnerable. Weakened in a way she didn’t wholly understand or appreciate.

And tears prickled her eyes because he liked doing it, liked proving that he _could _and _would _if she continued to defy him—continued her foul behavior.

And when she looked up again, Leo was looking at her. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, stooping low. He reached out with a comforting hand, then stopped when she flinched. Then he stood and backed up. Looked away again and scratched the back of his neck.

“We’ve, uh—” His eyes flicked to the manacle binding her wrist, and he sneered at it. “We’ve been docked for a about an hour, and Zhao left for the palace a little bit ago.”

Koori pulled her knees to her chest and tried to wrap her arms around them, but the shackle jangled and caught, and she swore another round of vengeance on it before pushing herself closer to the wall. When there, she got comfortable. Hunkered down as best she could because Leo didn’t have a key, nor the permission to untie her—only Zhao did and could.

So she looked at the lieutenant and silently questioned why he was there. Because the last time she’d checked, informing her that they’d docked wasn’t a good enough reason to enter Zhao’s quarters. Besides, she could tell they were inland by the nearly nonexistent sway of the ship.

“He, uh—” He was _still _scratching his neck. Was he _that _nervous? “He told me not to feed you today, so I figured you were in the midst of a vile punishment…” He paused. “But I didn’t expect to find you—” A wave. “—like this.”

Well. It was a reason, but it still wasn’t good.

Leo didn’t have any control over her punishments. He didn’t have any authority over what they were, when they began, how long they lasted, or when they came to an abrupt end. Only Zhao did, and he’d made that very, very clear over the years.

So still…why was he there?

“I _did _do it though.” Leo’s gaze shifted around until it settled on Zhao’s desk.

Koori’s eyes followed his…and stopped.

Because there—right _there—_was a steaming bowl filled with something that was undoubtedly delicious. And she licked her lips and clenched her aching stomach, hopeful that he’d bring it close. Hopeful that she’d get to taste whatever was inside—to eat whatever was within.

Her stomach growled, and she clenched it harder and remembered how the last meal she’d had hadn’t even gotten a chance to completely nourish her. No, it’d ended up in the toilet bowl during the first leg of the storm. And she was sorely missing sustenance. Even the tiniest scrap of a long-detested mushroom.

“Before I get it, though, you’ve got to promise me something.”

Koori looked at him. Looked deep into his steel-grey eyes and silently let him know that she’d promise _anything _to get that meal.

“You can’t tell Zhao that I gave it to you.”

Except that.

She couldn’t promise that.

If Zhao asked, she was obligated to tell. _Required _to let him know as much as she possibly could.

She couldn’t lie to him to save her skin. He always found out—_always found out. _And he never failed to punish her for fibbing, even if it was something insignificant. Even if it had no effect on him.

Koori bit her quivering bottom lip…and shook her head.

Leo let out a breath and walked to Zhao’s desk. “I understand,” he said. “I understand why you can’t, but you understand why _I _can’t, then, right?”

She did. She truly, truly did. She couldn’t lie to her master, just like Leo couldn’t openly defy him, no matter how much he disagreed with whatever Zhao said or did.

So she nodded and he grabbed the bowl. He turned and started to leave, then Koori’s stomach growled in protest, screaming _no, no, no_. And she clamped it. Tried to silence it.

But Leo had heard.

He’d been halfway to the door and about to leave, but he’d heard.

His peppered head dipped and he turned around again. Then he slowly trekked back—careful not to spill—and sat on the edge of the bed by her feet. His hand jutted out and he extended the bowl. “Just eat it,” he said. “Please. Just…eat it.”

Koori touched his bare wrist and squeezed.

She wanted to tell him that it was okay, that she could go another day without eating. She’d gone for much, much longer in the past, and two days was nothing, was child’s play. But when Leo looked at her—when his goateed chin twitched with sympathy, understanding, and acceptance—she grabbed the bowl and held it.

“I know what I’m doing,” he said. “If he finds out what I did, I’ll take full responsibility.”

Nothing Leo said mattered. Zhao would determine who was accountable and dole out whatever abuse he deemed necessary. With her, he could do something deplorable. But with Leo, it couldn’t be anything too hazardous, nothing too abusive.

Yes, Leo might be forced to run an undetermined number of laps. Yes, he might be required to pick up a loathed graveyard shift or work for an ungodly amount of time. Yes, he might be recruited to clean out the komodo-rhino pens or care for the hawks, but he’d never face the same torments Koori had—and would if Zhao determined they were needed.

She couldn’t risk them both being in trouble—no matter how delicious the egg noodles in her bowl looked, no matter how crisp the vegetables would taste, no matter how enchanting the broth smelled—and she handed the bowl back.

“I want you to eat it,” he said, not accepting it. “I mean it, Sunshine.”

There it was again—that nickname.

And Koori clutched the bowl and broke a rule she’d followed for thirteen years. “You haven’t called me that since I was a kid.”

If Leo hadn’t been sitting, he would’ve fallen.

His eyes bulged, his breathing quickened, and all the candles in the room fluttered for a moment whilst under his startled influence. “Koori…” It was a whisper. So filled with awe and care that Koori was afraid she’d done something horribly, irreversibly wrong.

She put the bowl on Zhao’s nightstand and crawled toward him, still wrapped in sheets. She stared at his glittering eyes and touched his cheek. Pressed her thumb into the war-torn grove under his eye and wiped away a tear.

He wriggled away from her touch with a flinch, but looked happier than she’d ever seen him look.

“Are you—” She tried to inch forward, but the manacle on her wrist prevented her from getting too close. “Are you okay?”

“Ah—” Leo stood and blinked a few times. Took a deep breath, then sat back down. “—of course I am. It’s just…” He stopped and wiped his eyes again. “Hearing your voice…it means so much to me. After so long, it’s a pleasant surprise.”

Koori smiled. It was soft and pleasant and she tried to remember the last time they’d spoken—probably when she’d first been captured, when her parents had begged for her life and Zhao had gifted them their final wish, only to brutally subject her to a life of servitude—and she looked away and drew close to the wall.

“I don’t ever expect forgiveness for that,” Leo said, like he could read her mind. “And don’t you dare try, either. I know what I did and you do too. I’ve come to terms with it and know that I’ll be judged in the Spirit World because of it. And though I’ve been trying to make it up to you every day since, I can’t let you fall victim to your nature. Not for me, at least.”

It was a lengthy apology—one that she didn’t completely understand—and she nodded.

“Now.” He stood and snatched the bowl off Zhao’s nightstand. Forced it into her hands and tilted it forward, demanding she eat. “Eat up, Sunshine. I’ve got to get going before somebody notices I’m gone.”

Koori held the bowl for an instant, then looked up. “Only if you do something for me, first.”

Leo looked lost, but determined. Sad, but proud. “Name it.”

“Tell me why you stopped calling me _Sunshine._”

Leo didn’t hesitate. “Zhao forbade it,” he said. “He caught me using it early on and hated it. Said that if I wanted to stick around, I’d better drop it. Or else.”

“Or else?”

A nod. “Or else.”

He didn’t need to say anymore. _Or else _could’ve meant anything when it came to Zhao. So Koori looked at the bowl one final time, then downed it. Everything tasted just as good as it looked, and when it was empty, she handed it back.

Leo smiled, then left.

And she stared at the ceiling, whispering the word her father had bequeathed her when she’d first showed him how sparks flickered to life in her hands.

“Sunshine. Sunshine. Sunshine.”

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

The Fire Nation’s Royal Palace didn’t look any different than the last time he’d been there, three years ago. It was still regal and dark, cold and foreboding. Walls colored with an inane amount of red and gold, and wood ceilings stained nearly black.

It still echoed as his steel-lined boots pounded against the marble floor, and still felt extravagant beyond necessity; yet, its near-empty feel _still _made it highly, highly coveted, and Zhao found himself looking left, then right, thinking about his future and how the palace might be _his _one day, assuming Agni continued to bless him.

Perhaps it would take a few years, but it’d be worth it.

Ozai was and had been a decent leader—corrupt in all the right ways and ruthless to the hilt—but his offspring…

Well. They simply…weren’t.

The prince didn’t have a backbone and had been banished for his numerous weaknesses. And the princess? She was reportedly callous, cruel, and neglectful to a level wherein the most wicked officers had doubts about her prowess and ability to lead.

So that left Ozai without a capable descendant to rule upon his demise. Which meant that the next logical successor had to be somebody outside the royal family. Somebody with a pristine bloodline, countless naval and land-based victories, and who’d tamed and owned somebody like…Koori.

At the end of the day, _he_ was their best choice. Their _only _rational choice.

And when they chose him as their next fearless leader and sat him atop the Fire Lord’s throne, he’d look back on his life and smile as flames poured around his daises.

But first—

Two Imperial Firebenders on either side of the throne room entrance opened the curtains and beckoned him inside. He paid them no mind and passed them with his usual arrogant and smug countenance. And when he was finally inside, he took a quick glance around.

He’d been in the throne room two other times—when the late and great Fire Lord Azulon had ordered him to decimate his slave’s village and the inhabitants within, and when he’d been promoted for his efficiency and loyalty for said mission (though, he hadn’t been as efficient or loyal as he’d promised, but he’d had _reasons _for disobeying such a request)—and it’d looked glorious back then, and looked just the same, now. Warm and pleasant, fearful and hard.

It was a place of business. A place where executions were decried and military plans discussed. It wasn’t just a throne room; it was a place to discuss war and tactics. A place to house even the maddest of campaigns across the Earth Kingdom and Water Tribes.

And Zhao loved it.

The room, the décor, the giant map of the world off to the side littered with metal figurines depicting hard-fought territory that they’d won and pillaged. It was all stuff he couldn’t wait to possess once Ozai was gone and his unworthy offspring had been ousted.

But for now…

He knelt in front of Ozai’s throne and prostrated himself like any other loyal Fire Nation citizen. He kept that position for seconds that felt like minutes, then minutes that felt like hours. Then he grew irritated and slightly bored—knew there were better ways to spend his time than visibly groveling before a wall of flames—and looked up and said, “Thank you for this momentous opportunity, Fire Lord Ozai. I am honored.”

Ozai’s flaming wall dimmed, then puttered out. He stood from his daises and descended the small set of stairs off to the side. Then he stood before Zhao’s kneeling form—

And smiled.

“Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule, Commander Zhao.”

Ozai’s voice was unnaturally composed and practiced. Like he’d spent his entire life offering praise and punishment to people who deserved it, and Zhao found it incredibly refreshing yet highly unnerving. Mostly because he still wasn’t sure which one he’d been summoned for. He knew he deserved nothing but staunch praise, but nobody could ever be sure when they entered Ozai’s company.

“I’ve heard that you’ve done a great deal for our nation over the past few years.” Ah! Praise. That was good. “It’s truly an honor to meet a youthful and ambitious man such as yourself.”

It was hard to hide his glee, but Zhao did the best he could considering the circumstances. And when Ozai’s hand splayed out and he walked to the expansive map on the other side of the room, he couldn’t help but follow and feel honored when he sat at his ruler’s right hand.

They stared at the map for a moment before Zhao began explaining his future desirable campaigns. A silly trek across the western Earth Kingdom coastline to pillage a few more menial villages, an incursion against a group of wayward children plaguing one of the Fire Nation’s newest settlements slightly inland, and finally, a project he’d spent years and months developing.

A task no other officer had the gonads to propose in the eighty-five years that’d passed since their last rare defeat—an invasion against the Northern Water Tribe.

It was a ballsy proposition, an excruciatingly risky maneuver. And Zhao expected immediate rejection at the idea, perhaps an explanation that the time wasn’t right or that they simply weren’t ready for such a feat. But he got something completely unexpected, instead.

Ozai didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. His brow twitched and he leaned slightly forward. Then he smirked at the map and stroked his goatee, deep in thought, listening to every word.

And Zhao did his best to keep his ruler interested. “For years,” he said, gesturing across the map, “I’ve been researching methods about our resilient neighbors, and I think that I’ve finally discovered a method to thwart those savages. All I need is—”

Ozai held out a hand. “Before you continue, what news do you have on the Avatar? You sent Fire Sages to my doorstep, and they spoke about your brief encounter.”

Is that what Ozai wanted? Is that why he’d been summoned? To discuss the matters of an insignificant, sniveling airbender. A child no older than twelve who barely posed the tiniest threat to the almighty and overpowering strength of the Fire Nation.

Well. It wasn’t like Zhao’d completely tossed the idea of capturing the boy and his savage companions aside. He _had _been keeping tabs on their whereabouts through his own secret network of spies and confidants. But honestly, it’d been easier to track the banished prince as he tore apart the Earth Kingdom with a violent fervor that Zhao hadn’t anticipated or expected.

And if Zuko happened to capture the Avatar, Zhao’s plan was to intercept him on his way home. All he needed to do was stop him along his blockade for a routine inspection, then steal the prize off his ship. Yes, it was crude; yes, it wasn’t very honorable. But if nobody survived the assault, nobody would know. And nobody would care.

And Zhao could return home to more praise and riches than he’d ever seen before.

But first—

“I’ve been busy protecting our nation, Your Grace. The Avatar is merely a vanity project.”

Ozai’s smirk disappeared and a glare replaced it. “Vanity project?”

Zhao back-peddled. “The protection of our homeland and the expansion of your rule is priority, correct?”

There was nothing for a while. Not a sound, not even a twitch of Ozai’s stern expression. Then, “Perhaps I was wrong about you.”

Well. That wasn’t good. So Zhao did his best to read the hidden message within Ozai’s few words. “You want me to search for the Avatar?” he asked. “What about your son?”

Ozai chuckled, cold and knowing. “I tasked Prince Zuko with hunting the Avatar as a way of getting rid of him. Distracting him. I never anticipated that two years into his banishment, the Avatar would return.” His gaze hardened again. “Zuko cannot return to the Fire Nation, Commander. He’s a smudge that needs to be burned from our history. Permanently.”

It was rare for Ozai to be so candid about his son’s lackluster status, and Zhao took great pleasure that he had his Fire Lord’s undivided trust. “Perhaps our ambitions go hand-in-hand,” he said with a charming smile.

Ozai’s gaze locked onto his. “Explain.”

Zhao’s smile grew. “The Avatar has already mastered airbending, and according to the cycle, he needs to learn waterbending next.” He gestured to the map’s southern hemisphere. “The Southern Water Tribe is benderless, which means that the boy will have to travel north to find a suitable teacher.”

“The Northern Water Tribe.” Ozai grasped his bearded chin. “Interesting, but they’ve managed to hide behind their walls and avoid the war for the past eighty-five years. How would you plan on invading them?”

Zhao gathered up every little ship on the map and placed them along the Northern Water Tribe’s icy border. “We’ll need a massive invasion force, something to catch the savages off guard and destroy their whimsical thoughts of victory. Hundreds—no, _thousands_—of ships so we can crush their walls and capture the Avatar and their capitol at the same time.”

There was a pause. Then, “It will take time to prepare.”

“Yes,” Zhao said with a nod. “And we’ll need to wait until the Avatar makes it there before we attack; otherwise, we’ll only gain the Water Tribe.”

For a second, Ozai looked visibly uncomfortable. But his discomfort quickly faded. “I want you to capture the boy before he makes it to the Water Tribe, Commander. I don’t want him learning another form of bending, even the basics. If you could do that, I’d be very pleased.”

Zhao smiled. “If you’re worried about him learning another form of bending, I can assure you that waterbending won’t be a problem after the invasion.”

Ozai’s eyes narrowed as he turned. “How do you plan on dealing with the waterbenders?”

Zhao’s smile grew and grew. “I have a bit of deciphering to do, but I think I’ve located the Moon and Ocean Spirits. Waterbenders draw their power from the moon. And I plan on capturing it or ending it…permanently.”

Ozai stood. “This meeting has been very interesting,” he said with a satisfied nod. “But I still want you to try and capture the Avatar before he makes it to the Water Tribe.”

“But the blockade—”

“Taken care of.”

“But my duties—”

“Have changed.”

Zhao pondered. Then stood. “My resources are very limited. If I’m expected to be successful, I’ll need access to things outside my current power.”

Ozai nodded and waved his hand, like such things had already been considered and taken care of. “In time,” he said. Then he trekked back to his throne and sat atop it as he redrew his curtain of flames.

“Track the boy, Commander Zhao. Find him and bring him to me. And for your loyalty, you’ll be heartily rewarded.”

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

It didn’t take long for Zhao to return to the familiarity of his ship. And when he was finally inside the conning tower, Leo was at his side, like usual.

“How’d it go?”

It was hard to ignore the man and his ever-present self, but Zhao tried. And failed. “It went well,” he said as he ascended the stairs. “It went just as expected…until Ozai told me to concentrate my efforts on the Avatar.”

“Really?” Leo took the stairs two at a time until he caught up.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Unfortunately? I thought you’d be pleased.”

It was true, he was. But his main goal for years had been the annihilation of the Northern Water Tribe. And though he’d brought it up and wrangled it into his ultimate plan, Ozai hadn’t responded as well as he would’ve liked.

Zhao’s invasion had gone from a strategic mission to a method of last resort, and it irked him.

He sighed and eventually admitted, “I am. But I’m going to need a better method for tracking the airbender. He’s young, but elusive and crafty. And his beast of burden makes it nearly impossible to pin him down.”

He paused and clenched the railing underneath his right hand. “Our time with the blockade is finished, Lieutenant.”

“Do we have a heading, sir?”

Zhao rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The last I’d heard, the Avatar was sighted outside an Earth Kingdom merchant town. Something about thwarting a band of pirates…”

“Ah, a hawk came while you were away. His bison was spotted in the storm we passed through last night.”

“Excellent.”

“But I’d suggest that we head toward the Colonies. He seems to keep shifting north, and at the rate he’s going, it won’t be long until he’s outside of Yu Dao.”

“Then we have our heading,” Zhao said with a nod. “Yu Dao it is.”

Leo nodded. “It’ll take us a day to bypass the blockade and another day to get there, but I’m sure that by then, we’ll be able to wheedle the Avatar out.”

“Yes. He always seems to brag about his powers wherever he goes. And if we post a reward for information regarding his capture, I’m sure we’ll have a plethora of interest and headings in no time.” He paused and smiled. “The Earth Kingdom people are weak and suffering; they’ll do anything for a pittance, even if it means giving up the only hope they’ve got left.”

Leo didn’t reply, merely walked off.

But he didn’t get far before Zhao turned his attention on him. “So Leo—” Leo turned back around. “—how’s Koori?”

Leo’s gaze became hard and unreadable. “I wouldn’t know,” he said.

But Zhao knew his lieutenant. Knew him enough to catch when the man was lying. So he grinned and strode away, hands clasped behind his back until he returned to the privacy of his quarters.

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

The door opened with its usual _squeal _as Zhao walked inside. He looked at his bed and smirked.

Koori was just where he’d left her, but not in the same state.

She’d managed to cover herself in his absence. Managed to pull a sheet overtop her lithe frame and wrap it underneath her armpits, coating her body as best she could despite the slit up her leg that marked the end of the blanket, but the beginning of something much, much more enjoyable.

It made his dick twitch. Made him consider ripping off his armor and bedding her erotically-positioned body, right then. Right there.

But he couldn’t. Not yet.

He had other things to figure out. Other things to consider.

So even though she stared at him—jangled her shackle and demanded to be set free—he ignored her and sat on his desk chair. Steepled his fingers and stared.

At her. At the mound betwixt her legs where the sheet creased just so. At the puckers of silk where her nipples poked up. At her mused-up hair and ever-blushing cheeks.

Zhao grinned and imagined, and Koori gripped the blanket tighter. Pulled it closer and closer. But she didn’t realize that it made her tastier. Made the crease between her legs ride up and the puckers of fabric protrude more.

His dick twitched again, and he did his best to ignore it. But it was so...hard. And getting harder.

“Good afternoon, Master.”

Her voice sounded soft and slightly scratchy, and he disappeared into his bathroom to fetch a cup of water. She tried to take it from his hand, but he smirked and pressed the rim to her lips. He drew her head back with the pad of his thumb against her chin and let her sip.

And when she was done, she tapped on his wrist and he returned to his desk, downing the rest of the glass with one healthy swallow.

“How was your meeting with Fire Lord Ozai?”

She hadn’t offered a single word of gratitude, and he glared.

“Thank you,” she said, realizing—trembling.

His glare softened but didn’t disappear. “It didn’t go exactly as I anticipated.”

She leaned forward and drew her knees to her chest. “How so?”

“He wants me to capture the Avatar.”

There was a pause. A lengthy period where Koori thought whilst biting her bottom lip. “Does that displease you?”

He couldn’t help but shrug. “No, but my insignificant access to resources does. And it puts a bit of a damper on my ultimate goal.”

“The Northern Water Tribe?”

A nod. “The Northern Water Tribe.”

“Well—” Koori readjusted herself with a more aggressive-than-necessary clank of her shackle. “—_insignificant access to __resources _has never stopped you before.”

It was true; it hadn’t. However, in the past, he’d had a starting point. He'd had a decent idea where to go and what to do. He’d had experience, contacts, and a very tangible supply of goods he could use to his advantage.

But now, he had nothing.

The people who’d hunted the Avatar in the past were long dead and failures, unhelpful even if he knew their names. The contacts he had were only as good and loyal as his gold could provide, and if someone came along and unknowingly outbid him, they’d quickly provide false information to lure him away. Even the resources he could garner as a commander paled in comparison to the resources he would need in order to succeed. Hell, even General Iroh—_long _retired and somewhat dishonored—and Prince Zuko—banished and disavowed without hope—had better access to services and assets than he did.

And he glared at the wall, tap, tap, tapping his fingers against his desktop.

“Do you have a heading?”

He grunted, “Yu Dao.”

“Oh.” Koori’s expression darkened, then brightened. “Could you let me go?”

He glared.

She added, “Please?”

Well. At least she’d _asked _this time. And she’d probably learned her lesson by now, anyway. So Zhao stood and withdrew a key. Unshackled her with a _click, _and watched her scoot off the bed and to his bookshelves.

She rubbed her wrist and clutched his sheet to her chest. Perused his library, then found the book she was looking for and laid it flat. Opened it and leafed through, then stopped and turned.

“You’ll need a tracker, right?” Zhao nodded and she pointed at a page. “How about the Yuyan Archers? They’re the best in the world, and they’ll be somewhat nearby.”

Zhao blinked, then thought. “Yeah, they’re at Pohuai and under Colonel Shinu’s command. But I don’t have the rank or authority to take them.”

“You could ask.”

“I very much doubt—”

“Ask _nicely.”_

He glared at the interruption and suggestion. “_Nicely?” _The word sounded foreign and tasted bad when he said it. But it was an idea—a very good idea. And he shooed her away from his desk and glanced at the passage she’d found. He read it, then reread it and hummed. “Pleases and thank yous have never been my forte.”


	8. The Blue Spirit: Part 1

Colonel Shinu was a garishly stocky man. He was two heads too short and lacked the refinery of proper breeding, but he had an ever-growing list of successful campaigns and an aura that demanded respect. And even though he obviously knew an ambitious and prosperous proposition when he saw one, he was taking a while to consider Zhao’s _nicely _worded proposal.

And when Shinu finally _did_ open his mouth to speak, komodo-rhino shit poured out. “Absolutely not. The Yuyan Archers stay here. Your request is denied, Commander Zhao.”

Zhao clenched his hands behind his back and stifled a growl in the back of his throat. He peered below and looked at the training arena, then glared. So many archers practicing their most basic drills, so many flawless shots wasted in a row of targets.

“Colonel Shinu—” Koori’s strategy had failed, but it still had merit. And Zhao wasn’t one to give up, especially when the archers were so…perfect. Perfect aim, perfect trackers, perfect soldiers. And they were there for the taking; all he needed to do was do a bit of convincing. “—please reconsider.”

Shinu said nothing.

“Their precision is legendary.”

No reply.

“The Yuyan can pin a fly to a tree from a hundred yards away, without killing it.”

Still nothing. Then—

An archer loosed an arrow below, almost like he was making a point.

_Thwack!_

Perfect. Of course.

And Zhao glared and growled, “You’re wasting their talents using them as _mere_ security guards.”

Shinu finally piped up and scowled. “_I _can do whatever I want with their talents. They’re _my _archers, and what _I _say, goes.”

It was hard to keep focused after such a childish statement. Koori’s plan had failed—miserably—and the archers were still below, firing shot after impeccable shot into circled mounds of painted hay. So Zhao turned away from the field and leveled his gaze. He tried to sound calm, but his words came across petulant and grating. “But my search for the Avatar is—”

“Nothing but a _vanity project_.” Shinu took a step forward and forced him back. He pointed and jabbed whenever he saw fit. “We’re fighting a real war here, and I need every man I’ve got, Commander.”

“But—”

“That’s final!”

Zhao turned away. Grumbled. If only the colonel would let him explain the situation.

Ozai’s orders, his mission and its importance to the Fire Nation—Shinu’s _homeland—_and the eventual invasion of the Northern Water Tribe…

Everything had a purpose and a moment, and at _this _moment, he needed the Yuyan Archers. So he opened his mouth—

But Shinu swiped wide and scowled. “I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

Well.

Those words sealed his lips and bound him to silence. But he still glared, still growled. And when a messenger hawk floated inside, he barely spared it a glance—

Until he saw the Fire Lord’s seal on the container.

He took a step. “News from Fire Lord Ozai?”

He extended an arm and reached for the scroll, but Shinu shuddered away as he read. Then a sound escaped Shinu’s throat—akin to a choke—and he tossed the scroll back. “Here.”

Zhao caught it. Read it. Then smiled at it. “It appears I’ve been promoted to Admiral.” It was unexpected, quick, and nearly unheard of, but he knew he deserved it. _Required it. _Ozai’s mission was nigh-impossible with the resources he could garner as a commander. But as an admiral? Hell, the sky was endless. His _power _was endless. And as an example of what he could do—

“My request,” he said as furled his promotion, “is now an order.”

Shinu bowed—as he should’ve—and departed without a word. And when he was finally out of sight, Zhao placed both his hands on the railing and leaned against it.

The archers were still below, still firing perfect arrow after arrow, and he knew he’d have the Avatar within his grasp. And if they were as good as he’d heard and read—and as good as he could see—he’d have him soon, too.

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

His fingers ached and his body screamed, but Zuko—disguised as one of his mother’s favorite performance characters: the Blue Spirit—grappled down one of Pohuai’s three security walls and bolted across the clearing and into the forest.

His excursion alone had been…educational. Filled with important information and secrets denied to him by so many if he bothered to ask. Zhao’s promotion, his seizure of Pohuai’s human security system, the fact that he was _still _hunting the Avatar after his miserable defeat a few weeks ago…

Zhao clearly wasn’t a man of honor. Because if he was, he would’ve given up his pursuit the moment his life was spared. But he hadn’t. And now he had…

Power.

Authority. And a boundless agenda of revenge and a list of names to dole it out to. And Zuko was undoubtedly on top, and his ship was uncomfortably nearby…

He gripped a branch and set off toward the dock.

He had a feeling that he was next on Zhao’s shit-list, and if he was…he needed to know. And since that monkey-faced buffoon was distracted at Pohuai, he wouldn’t be on his ship. Or in his room. So it meant that _now _was the best time to glean as much information as possible.

So he made a plan.

He’d break into Zhao’s quarters and pillage his desk. He’d find his itinerary for the coming weeks and convene with Uncle and Jee. They’d craft a route so they could stay two steps ahead—well away from Zhao and his newfound power—and they’d never, ever, see him again. And when he finally captured the Avatar and returned to his father’s side, he’d personally demote him. Show him just how much he _appreciated _Zhao’s disrespect and disregard for the sacred rules of Agni Kai.

But first—

He scampered across the dock and pressed tight against a cargo box. There were soldiers standing around, but they weren’t paying the slightest attention, so he shifted and reached and caught hold of one of the ship’s two tethers.

He climbed—quickly, lest somebody spot him—and curled over the ship’s railing. Then he sprinted across the deck and ducked into the shadows of the conning tower.

He climbed the stairs two at a time and fluttered through the hallways like an ancient spirit. He knew most officers got to choose their own rooms, and as a commander, Zhao got first pick. So of course he’d pick the best one available. And with ships of this size…

The best room was four floors up and at the end of the hall. It had the biggest window and the finest amenities. It was starboard-side, which meant that it was…

_There!_

Zuko pulled the Z-bar, but discovered it locked. So he knelt and pulled out his lock-picking kit and set to work.

One shim in. Another curving around. He worked for seconds that felt like minutes. Then—

_Click!_

He was in.

He pulled the door open and crawled inside. Then—

_SLAM!_

_“_Ugh!”

Zuko clutched his freshly-smashed head with one hand and drew his duel Dao swords with the other. Then he gripped them both and pushed them high, and the girl who’d attacked him shrunk back and away. But even though she was frightened and retreating, she raised her chosen weapon—a book thicker than his forearm—and poised it above her head. Ready to strike. Ready to hit him _again, _however she could.

But this time, she didn’t have the element of surprise.

So Zuko pushed his swords higher and tilted the edge of his blades against her throat as he scrambled to his feet.

She lowered her weapon, but he didn’t lower his.

There was…a pause. And a feeling of familiarity. Like he’d met her at one point or another.

It took him a moment, but he eventually realized _why _she looked so familiar.

_Zhao’s slave. _The girl was Zhao’s Fire Nation slave, and he’d forgotten about her.

He silently cursed himself—_Stupid! Stupid!—_and shifted his swords away from her throat. Slightly. Then he tapped her cheek with the blunt side of his blade and she tossed her book away with a _thump. _Her face paled and her lips trembled, but he returned his swords to their rightful place against her skin, and waited.

There was silence.

Minutes of it.

She didn’t open her mouth and Zuko didn’t open his—the Blue Spirit was silent at all times, except during interrogations with absolute strangers—and he didn’t know what to do with her because he hadn’t _planned _for her (which prompted Uncle’s voice in his head, prattling on about not thinking things through in some sort of twisted, mind-bending proverb). So he rolled his eyes and kept still.

But when she moved—one hand drifting through the air, ready to do everything and anything—Zuko didn’t hesitate.

He pushed, and she careened head-first into the wall and slid ungracefully into a heap on the floor. Her hair fell overtop her terrified face and her lankly-clothed arms and legs sprawled out, half trying to shield herself, half flailing with the impact.

She stilled and appeared dead—and could’ve been—so Zuko spared a moment to sheath his blades and make sure she was still breathing. He shifted mussed hair away from her face, pulled down her over-large collar, and pressed two fingers against her throat. He felt a faint pulse—_thump, thump, thump—_and retreated with a nod.

Then he tore through Zhao’s desk with vigor and malice.

Drawings of ships, lists of officers, and an old map of the Northern Water Tribe, sketched long before Fire Lord Sozin’s era. He chucked each piece of parchment aside and dug further and further down.

Until he hit a compartment that required a key.

Locks meant nothing to the Blue Spirit, so he knelt down and withdrew his kit. He put in one shim, then another, and began to pry the toggles in _just _the right sequence. Then—

_Click!_

The drawer popped out and a myriad of yellowed scrolls burst forth.

Zuko perused them all and scanned the contents until he got the general gist—written rumors dating back more than a decade ago, something about a kid who could heal with fire—and Zuko snorted at them because fire didn’t heal, it scolded, burned, and destroyed. All of which, he knew too well.

So he tossed everything aside and continued digging, continued reading. But most of the documents were littered with information about the kid’s location, age, characteristics, and background, and Zuko disregarded all of it—

Until he got to a smudged oil painting.

A family. Happy, but odd.

A man, clearly Fire Nation based on his posture and build. And a woman, obviously Water Tribe based on her coloring and outfit.

They looked odd together, like they didn’t belong. And though they looked mismatched, they appeared happy and smiling. And between them, there was a little girl, just out of toddlerhood, at best. She was beaming with one of the largest grins he’d ever seen on a child; lips spread thin and cheeks rosy red. Golden-hued eyes opened ungodly wide and holding hands that looked far too large within each of her own tiny ones.

The picture radiated joy and laughter, and Zuko didn’t understand why it was there until his gaze peered away and fell atop the slave still slumped on the ground.

Black hair, golden eyes, milky skin. All like the painting’s little girl.

And he couldn’t help but stagger forward with the oil painting lodged in his hand.

He knelt and tousled more hair away from her face. Then he put the picture against her ear and compared the two.

It was hard to tell if the girls were one and the same. There were so many years between them and Zhao’s unconscious slave didn’t carry the same expression. But Zuko felt drawn to the image—he liked the oddity of the parental pair and the smiling girl betwixt them—and he pocketed it without a thought.

Then he tore through Zhao’s desk again and replaced everything he’d perused. Locked everything back up like he hadn’t been there, then—

The girl moaned.

And Zuko paused.

He waited and watched, but she didn’t do anything else—didn’t move, didn’t moan, didn’t open her eyes—so Zuko took the opportunity…and fled Zhao’s quarters.

He made it half-way down the hall before realizing he hadn’t locked Zhao’s door. But when he turned around at the stairwell, a soldier appeared, and Zuko bolted into the shadows to avoid him.

The man had a paper bag in his hands and a smile on his face, and he continued down the hall with a soft-sounding, whistled song. Then he stopped at Zhao’s door and withdrew a key. Shoved it into the lock and turned it—

But wasn’t greeted with its usual _click._

His face grew panicked and he tossed his bag aside. Then he raced inside Zhao’s room with a garbled cry and reappeared a moment later with barked orders spread thick on his lips. They echoed and hit whoever they were meant to get to, but Zuko was long gone by the time anybody responded.

And when he finally got to his rivercraft, he only had a handful of thoughts in his head.

How long had Zhao had his slave? And…was she the little girl from the painting?

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

_Splash!_

There was water on her face and it was cold and somewhat grating. There were fingers against her throat and they were coarse and shaking. There was a voice—very garbled and nearly unintelligible and whisper-screaming, “Sunshine! Sunshine, wake up!”—and Koori realized that something was wrong.

Very, very wrong.

Her eyes fluttered open and her hand sought her aching head. Then something—_somebody—_pulled away and let out an exhausted but refreshing sigh.

“Thank Agni,” Leo said, looking up, “you’re awake.”

“Lieutenant?” Everything felt heavy and nothing made sense. She was on the floor, sprawled out and aching, and she didn’t remember how she’d gotten there. It could’ve been Zhao, but she clearly remembered him leaving with a smirk on his face, telling her that he’d be back in a few days’ time, after he’d gotten his archers and captured the Avatar. Then she’d immediately sat down to read, so…

There was a flicker in her head. Sounds and images, nearly fleeting, but ingrained, nonetheless.

Metallic scratches inside the door, scrip-scraping every so lightly. Then the usual _squeal, _albeit quieted by a hand that didn’t belong. Then—

Blue.

Then a _smack _as she beat whatever it was back and away.

Then something cold against her throat. Sharp, pointed edge so, so close to her skin, biting, nicking.

A sword.

Then more…

_Two_ swords, crisscrossed tight. A blue face with an ungodly, spiritual scowl, staring deep into her soul until her insides turned to jelly. A black void of fabric smelling of moss and dirt, and a silence that seemed to go on for days.

And when she tried to retaliate, tried to get away from its questionable grasp?

Pain.

Then nothing.

“Something was here,” she mumbled, rubbing her head. “Something…or someone? A monster, maybe?”

“A monster?” Leo was at her side, inspecting the back of her head. His fingers curled into her hair with a gentle prod, then they drew back and he placed his whole hand against her head. He fingered the lump that was already poking through.

“It had a…” It sounded crazy, she knew it did. But it was real—it _had _to be. “…a blue head.”

“A blue head?”

Leo’s tone was somewhat prickly and aggravated, and Koori flinched at it. “You don’t believe me.”

He gave a hurried and unconvincing smile. “Something was here,” he said with a sigh as his hand drifted to her shoulder and squeezed, “but I can’t confirm that it was a blue-headed monster.”

She couldn’t keep the pain and disappointment off her face, so she looked away. “Where’s Master?”

Zhao would believe her. She had no reason to lie, especially about something like…that. That _thing_—whatever it was—was terrifying and needed to be caught. Now. And all she needed to do was explain what she’d seen and he’d send a small search party out, immediately. Because assaulting her was the equivalent of assaulting him, and he’d never tolerate that level of disrespect. (People had died at his hand for much, _much _less.)

“Zhao’s still at Pohuai.” That was somewhat disappointing. “He’s going to be there for a while yet, I think.” Even more so.

Koori rubbed her eyes and groaned. “Did he get the Yuyan Archers?”

“Yeah. And the moment he did, he ordered me to bar the coast. No vessels in, no vessels out.”

Well. That was a good plan, but it left one thing open-ended. “So what’re you doing here?”

Leo reached behind him and drug a paper bag across the floor. He plopped it in front of her and shuffled it forward. “Before I got those orders, Zhao told me to get some things for you.”

Koori peered inside the bag. A few new outfits, all maroon and black, but wholeheartedly welcome considering her circumstances.

It was hard to admit, but she’d been wearing Zhao’s ill-fitting underclothes ever since he’d burned her last usable outfit to ashes two days ago. And to have something so new and lovely, she loved it, but knew it wouldn’t last. Her master had a penchant for burning clothing off her; he enjoyed it—reveled in it—and oftentimes smirked when her skin blackened, then healed. Crisped, then plumped. And he never seemed to get enough of it...

She kept digging through the outfits, then—

“I can’t have these.”

Shoes.

She held them out for Leo to collect, then frowned when he didn’t even budge.

“You’re kidding me, right?” He said it like she had a habit of joking. Like Zhao’s rules weren’t absolute and final. Like he hadn’t made it clear that she didn’t deserve things—couldn’t have things—especially like…shoes. “Is there a reason he keeps you barefoot?”

She nodded. “Shoes make it easier to run away.”

“Ah.” He winced, then whispered, “I suppose they would.” He shook his head and pushed them away. “But you need to be careful. If we go onto enemy ships and you do something silly like stub your toes, Zhao will be pissed. At me. At you. All around.” He smiled.

Koori couldn’t help it. “_We?”_

“Of course, _we._” He waved his hand. “With whatever just happened, I’m not letting you out of my sight. So change your clothes and put these on. You’re spending the day with me.”

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

She’d never seen so much of the ship before.

They’d been to the empty brig for a minor inspection, the engine room to mediate a personal dispute between two soldiers, the helm to discuss their mission across the bay, then to Leo’s quarters, where Koori was told to wait at the doorway (because it wasn’t appropriate for her to cross his threshold when they were together…alone).

And now?

They were in the aviary. Leo was sending a note to Zhao, detailing her attack (what she could remember of it and what made sense to him, at least) and Koori was waiting and playing with the hawks. Cooing at them and wiggling her fingers through the crisscrossed bars of their cages.

One or two leaned into her fingers and she gave them loving pats and scratches. Another one or two nipped at her and puffed out their chests, but she doted on them with childish squeals and a told them how proud they looked and brave they were, nonetheless. And when they eventually calmed and preened themselves, she smiled at them and whispered how she understood their imprisoned frustrations all too well.

They didn’t understand her words, but they flapped in reply, and that made her smile more.

“It looks like they’ve spotted someone.”

Koori turned at Leo’s voice and gazed beyond the confines of the ship. Sure enough, there was a boat on the horizon. Fire Nation made and small. Outdated.

But that meant—

“Prince Zuko.” Leo huffed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then he snorted in laughter or frustration (Koori couldn’t tell) and raised his hand to the boat, palm out. “It’s like that kid has a death wish or something.”

There was a young aviculturist nearby. He’d been standing far, far away from them, wringing a bag of dried feed between his hands with nervous enthusiasm. He had a dopey smile on his face and his general body language screamed that he was uncomfortable—with her, with her cooing at his hawks, with her petting them and praising them, with her just being…there—and he stepped forward and squeaked, “I can send another hawk to Pohuai if you need to go.”

Like he wanted them out. Or, more specifically, _her _out.

But Leo just smiled and said, “No. Don’t bother Zhao with this. It’s trivial and something I can handle on my own. I’ll just let him know that we crossed paths when I see him next.”

The aviculturist nodded and gestured. He wanted them to leave.

So Leo led her out.

And when they got two floors away, Koori whispered, “He seemed jumpy. Nice…but jumpy.”

Leo frowned. “Some of these men are actually boys in armor far too big for their bones. And young boys like what’s-his-face don’t know how to act around girls.”

Koori blinked. “I don’t understand.”

She’d only met a handful of boys in her life, most of which she’d encountered in childhood when Zhao allowed her cherished moments of outdoor playtime within the safety of the Colonies or mainland. And though boys usually stayed away from her, one or two had approached and offered greetings…only to be chased away by Zhao’s cruel sneer.

But Leo hadn’t mentioned Zhao. He’d only mentioned her, and it was curious.

So she looked at him with silent questions in her eyes, wondering. Inquiring.

Leo looked away and rubbed the back of his neck. Sighed. “They keep drafting them younger and younger,” he said. “I think that kid’s only seventeen and fresh outta basics. He’s probably never had a proper conversation with somebody of the opposite gender, let alone a date.”

“A date?”

Leo’s eyes bulged. “Um, yeah. Like when two people go out together. A…date.” He swiped his hands out like he was trying to brush the topic over. “But besides any of that, it’s...hard to talk to a girl. Especially an enslaved one, like yourself.”

Koori bit her bottom lip and looked away.

Zhao never had a problem with it. He usually said whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. To her, at least. And she was a girl _and _a slave, so…

“How come?”

“Well—” Leo looked visibly uncomfortable. “—you’re a commodity, Sunshine. A very rare and debatably necessary commodity.” He scratched the back of his neck. Again. “And only officers are allowed to bring slaves aboard their vessels, so that makes them highly coveted and easily speculated.”

“Coveted? Speculated?”

He ignored her. “Most soldiers—_good soldiers—_will just disregard you or steer clear of you. Like what’s-his-face just did.” He frowned. “It’s hard to understand a slave’s many rules and regulations, and some would rather not take the chance to potentially insult a commanding officer.”

Koori understood all that, but—

“Whaddya know—” Leo exited the conning tower and let out a breath. “—we’re outside and _right there’s _Zuko’s ship.” He paused and pointed and seemed to purposefully look anywhere than at her. “We’ve got work to do.”

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

Lieutenant Jee kept his hair shorn short, and Zuko couldn’t stop staring at it.

It oftentimes distracted him during meetings. Oftentimes made him wonder _why _he kept it unkempt and stubbly. Ungainly, unattractive, and peculiar even in the dimmest of embers. Especially when the Fire Nation’s chosen hairstyle of honor required _length_.

But Jee didn’t adhere to the usual topknot or half-knot, and it only made Zuko wonder.

Had he been dishonored at some point? Had he been shamed or banished? Did he do something so ungodly wrong in the past that required him to display _just _how dishonest he was to all who happened to pass by? Was his crew simply bursting with vagrants and outcasts and headed by the worst of the worst? Could he trust _no one_? Not even his second-in-command (or third, depending on Uncle’s mood)?

It consumed most of his time alongside the lieutenant, and Zuko spent minutes and hours gazing at the back of Jee’s head whenever his back was turned. Even now, when the man was bent over a map and going through all of the information Zuko had secretly gleaned from Zhao’s desk, he was _still _staring.

Jee was speaking and comparing the newfound intel with material they already had, and Zuko should’ve been paying attention and he _was—_he totally was—but he only got, “We haven’t been able to pick up the Avatar’s trail since the storm. But if we continue heading northeast—” before the entire ship shuddered.

_Burrr-hurrr._

He broke his gaze away from Jee’s hair. Looked up and frowned at the enormous vessel overtaking the entirety of their portside. “What do _they _want?”

“It’s Zhao’s,” Jee said, taking a step.

Zuko grumbled and folded his arms across his chest. Then he glared at the monstrosity as it lowered a ramp and deployed a small boarding party.

“And they’re coming aboard,” Jee said as he ran a hand through his hair.

“Perhaps they want a sporting game of Pai Sho?”

Zuko turned to his uncle.

Uncle’d been sitting in the same position since sunup, gambling with dimwitted crewmembers. He’d barely torn his calculating gaze away from his silly game, but did so for a millisecond, and flashed a quick smile. “What?” He shrugged. “It could happen.”

“Not likely,” Zuko said.

“Well,” Jee said with an annoyed sigh, “it’ll only be a matter of time before we know. They’re crossing the deck right now.”

Zuko turned to the window and looked below, but the party was already inside the conning tower and on their way up.

_Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter._

The sound of shuffling and clumping boots, and then…a herald.

“The hunt for the Avatar has been given prime importance. All information regarding him must be reported directly to _Admiral_ Zhao.”

He didn’t want to turn around and face Zhao’s worthless crew. Especially after _that_. So Zuko remained still and stared out the window. He found a spot on the deck that looked particularly interesting, and fumed.

“Zhao’s been promoted?” Uncle chuckled from behind. “Well…good for him.”

The herald took an audible step. “Prince Zuko—”

“I’ve got _nothing _to report to Zhao,” he spat with venomous vigor. “Now get off my ship and let us pass.”

He turned to snap some more—

And stopped short.

It wasn’t just Zhao’s lieutenant—the suspected herald—and a few soldiers standing about. No, _she _was there, too. Standing at the lieutenant’s right hand, slightly behind.

Zhao’s slave looked out of place and half-lost, and with her hood down and expression exposed, he could see every ounce of the startled look in her eyes, and he only thought one thing: _she didn’t know._

About Zhao’s promotion. About his brand-new power and authority that he was already undoubtedly abusing with terrifying glee.

Her face held shock, and now fear, and the lieutenant didn’t notice as he continued with his hands behind his back. “Admiral Zhao isn’t allowing ships in or out of this area.”

Zuko said nothing as the slave’s expression kept morphing. He watched and watched and his crew eventually noticed his unusual silence.

They looked up and gaped. Gawked. Then Uncle turned and smiled.

“Koori.” Of course Uncle remembered her name. He _always _remembered names, no matter how insignificant the person was. “How nice.”

The lieutenant shifted. “Do you know each other?”

Zhao’s slave—Koori—didn’t move or speak, but Uncle did.

“She was a well-placed distraction for my nephew when Zhao interrogated our crew a while back. And she was there for Prince Zuko and Zhao’s Agni Kai almost immediately thereafter.”

The lieutenant nodded and glanced at her. He gave her a look that was concerning and somewhat interesting, and Zuko wanted to know what it meant. “I wasn’t aware that she’d introduced herself.”

“Ah.” Uncle’s smile grew. “I don’t think she meant to, but I’m glad she did.” He paused and his grin dimmed. “So what’s she doing here?”

The lieutenant rubbed the back of his neck and obviously contemplated lying. But he eventually gave Uncle a half-frown and said, “She was attacked last night.”

Uncle dropped the tile in his hand and sent a scathing gaze across the room until Zuko returned it with an inaudible snarl. Then he calmed his expression, but managed to keep the disappointment in his eyes.

Well. Uncle _definitely _knew about his night-prowling, secret-sniffing alter-ego.

Uncle’d never let on—even when he returned at every and any hour of the night clad in black, sometimes soak-and-wet sweated or smelling like a komodo-rhino stall or exhausted beyond belief—and he’d never said a word when they suddenly had military movements and secrets they couldn’t obtain the day or week before without bargaining or haggling with money they _most certainly _didn’t have.

He’d never uttered _anything_—never complained, never questioned, never congratulated their unusual luck when they avoided Fire Nation vessels without _officially _being told—but _still, _Uncle knew. Because _of course he did._

Zuko pointedly looked away, but couldn’t avoid his uncle’s words.

“That is _most _disgraceful.” And totally _not _true—she’d _technically _attacked first. But Uncle shifted on his cushion and continued, “Attacking a woman is one of the lowest things that anybody could do.”

Zuko wanted to say something, but doing so would out his alias and get him detained, so he remained steadfastly silent.

“I agree, General.” Zhao’s lieutenant sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “And we haven’t caught the perpetrator, so I brought her along with me today.”

“So where’s Zhao?”

“Pohuai.”

“Pohuai?” Uncle mulled it over and _knew, _because he was Uncle. “Ah—the Yuyan Archers. That’s a very intelligent strategy.”

Zuko snorted, but nobody heard him.

“Yes,” the lieutenant said with a nod as he cryptically glanced at the slave (what _did _those looks mean?). “Very intelligent, indeed.”

There was silence for the briefest moment, then Uncle slapped his knees and drew everyone’s attention. He pointed to the board against his stomach and mischievously grinned. “So! Do you play?”

“I’m sorry, but no.” Zhao’s lieutenant shook his head. “I don’t.”

“What about you, Koori?”

She remained silent, but shook her head, too.

“Well, that’s a shame. I’ve been looking for somebody to teach since my nephew has no interest in silly games like Pai Sho…”

Everybody’s attention turned to him, and his anger—and his patience—bubbled over. “I refuse to talk about that stupid game, Uncle.” He looked at Zhao’s lieutenant and slave. Glared. “If you won’t let us pass and have nothing else to say, get off my ship.”

“Nephew—”

“Off! My! Ship!”

He emphasized each word with a well-placed point and a scowl, and Zhao’s cronies didn’t need to be told twice. They retreated with several pairs of pitter-pattering boots and disappeared down the hall.

And though the soldiers departed, Koori…did not.

She took a moment to smile and bow at him, then to Uncle, then she waved goodbye at his crew and flashed them a glowing grin. _Then_ she retreated with nearly inaudible and fast-paced _tippy-taps_ and disappeared into the shadows.

“Excellent!” Uncle had already returned to his game. Carefree and aloof, like usual. “It looks like I take the pot.”

The helmsman tore his eyes away from the door and groaned. The gap-toothed mechanic smacked his forehead. And Uncle’s grin grew more and more mischievous and contemplative.

“But you’re all improving.” Uncle stroked his beard with a practiced hand. “And I’m certain you’ll win if we…play again.”

Zuko snorted.

He knew a hustle when he saw one, and Uncle’d been raking in the crew’s meager wages for _years. _So he turned and watched Zhao’s crew meander across the deck, then trek up the gangway. But when they got about half-way, the slave turned—

And looked.

Directly at him, even from so far away.

And he couldn’t help but turn away with a, “_Tch,_” and cross his arms.

Girl from the painting or no, she was bothersome. And he had no patience or intrigue for somebody who was bothersome.

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

“I wouldn’t recommend jumping. It’d be a painful way to die.”

Koori blinked and turned. “I wasn’t going to jump, Lieutenant. I just wanted to…see.”

“See?” Leo reached out and guided her the rest of the way onto Zhao’s ship, then ordered the gangplank retracted. “See what?”

Leo wouldn’t believe her or care, but she could’ve _sworn _she saw a bruise on the back of Prince Zuko’s shaved head while his back was turned in the helm. It’d been curious and strange, and she’d decided to spare a moment to check and confirm.

And yep, there it was.

Purpled and yellowing through the glass. Oblong and very, very much more than a coincidence that it was in the _exact same location _she remembered hitting that monster.

But, she supposed, it could’ve been that—it could’ve been happenstance. Perhaps a training maneuver gone horribly awry. Perhaps somebody who’d grown tired of his incessantly foul mood and showed him _just _what he thought of him with a wail across his noggin.

But it felt like more than that. And she couldn’t stop staring.

“Koori.” Leo tugged her away from the railing. “Don’t egg him on. It’ll only make him madder.”

“Well, why’s he so angry in the first place? You only told him that he couldn’t dock at Pohuai. You didn’t bar the world from him. He could go literally _anywhere _else.”

Leo shrugged. “He’s prideful, Sunshine. And he’s just been told _no._” He paused and smirked. “Imagine you’re trying desperately hard to return home, but a pestering asshole like Zhao keeps getting in your way.”

Koori frowned. “That _is _my situation, but you don’t see _me_ yelling at people.”

Leo opened his mouth to say something, but closed it almost immediately thereafter. Then, “Let’s just go back to Pohuai, okay?”

She didn’t have any authority to do anything else, so she nodded and stole another glance.

Zuko’s bruise stuck out clearer and finer the more she looked, and she scoffed. “It’s a coincidence,” she said aloud—more to herself than anybody else. “Just a training accident gone bad.”


	9. The Blue Spirit: Part 2

“Calm down, Sunshine.”

Koori tried to steady her breathing and keep her gaze affixed to the dirt underfoot…but couldn’t.

Because Pohuai was gigantic, yet claustrophobic. Impressive, yet oppressive. Secure, yet filled with so many flaws that screamed otherwise. Calm, yet extraordinarily busy. And it made her queasy and uncomfortable—trapped—and all she wanted to do was claw at and bang on each one of its three massive gates after they closed behind her.

But she couldn’t. There were soldiers all around and Zhao was undoubtedly up ahead, and she could do _nothing _other than scurry past the three men-filled training fields and press herself closer and closer to Leo the further they trekked.

And when Zhao finally exited the tower to greet them, she couldn’t risk seeking comfort from Leo anymore. No, she had to veer away and drop her head and stare at the dirt as it passed underneath her shoes—like a good little slave. Then—

“The Yuyan left late last night.” Zhao’s footsteps _clump, clump, clumped _near. “I received word that they’ve picked up the Avatar’s trail and are already en route. It seems that he’s not that far away.” He paused, and Koori could practically _hear_ him smile. “I also heard that you spotted Prince Zuko’s vessel in our waters this morning. How did that brat take the news?”

Leo shrugged. “Not too well, actually. He kicked us off his ship.”

Zhao chuckled, “Perfect,” and turned on his heel and clasped his hands behind his back as he walked inside Pohuai’s tower.

Koori and Leo followed without pause.

“Colonel Shinu has been gracious enough to give me the guest quarters. Leo, I want you to take Koori there, then go to the third gate and alert me when my prize is on its way.”

“Actually, sir—” Zhao stopped and turned, eyebrow raised. “If you don’t mind, can I keep her with me for a while? After her attack last night…I don’t feel comfortable leaving her alone.”

“Ah. That’s right.” Zhao stepped close and tore off her hood. He settled his hands on her cheeks and caressed the sensitive skin under her eyes. He took a moment to inspect every visible inch of her, then frowned. “If you can describe your attacker in better detail, I’ll personally scour the earth for him.”

Koori’s eyes flicked to Leo, then back to Zhao. Her rules were clear—_no talking_—but Zhao seemed intent on hearing her voice, even though they were out in the open. Even though Leo was _right there._

“It was a blue-headed man.” She glanced up and Zhao appeared slightly confused and somewhat irritated. “And he had a pair of broadswords.”

“A blue-headed man? Broadswords?” He snorted. “It sounds like you had a very vivid dream, Sweetheart.”

“It wasn’t a dream, Master.” Not even _Zhao _believed her? How could she have been so wrong? Why would she lie about something like that? “He picked your lock, waltzed in, and I hit him with a book—”

“Good for you, Sweetheart.”

“—but he had swords and pinned me to the wall.”

His fingertips dug into her cheeks. “Did he hurt you?”

“No. He didn’t do anything until I tried to get away.” She blinked and flinched out of his hold. “I tried to defend myself, but he smashed my head against the wall. And by the time I woke up, he was gone and your lieutenant was there.”

Zhao’s frown lengthened and he regarded Leo. “Did _you_ see anything?”

Leo shook his head. “The only part of her story that I can attest to is the unlocked door.”

Zhao shrugged and huffed. “Maybe I forgot to lock it.”

“You’ve _never _forgotten to lock your door, Master.”

He glared, but Koori stood firm and folded her arms across her chest. Then she looked away and bit her bottom lip, looking somewhat guilty since she’d just admitted to jiggling his door every single day, just to see if she could escape.

Then Zhao spoke, annoyed. “You hit your head and imagined the whole thing. Just admit it and we’ll move on.”

Koori furrowed her brow and glowered. It was against Zhao’s rules to openly defy or argue with him, but she was willing to risk a punishment for the sake of her integrity. She wasn’t wrong—she didn’t, wouldn’t, and couldn’t imagine _that. _“I know what I saw. And if you don’t believe me, fine.”

Zhao went to discipline her, but Leo cleared his throat. “So,” he said, “can she tag along with me today?”

“No.”

“Oh…”

“She’ll be spending the day with me.”

“_Oh_.” Leo jittered for a moment, then, “I guess I should go.” He bowed. “I’ll let you know the moment I see the Yuyan return.”

“Yes. You do that,” Zhao said with a nod as Leo left.

“So.” He turned and clenched her forearm. Squeezed—hard. “How long have you been talking to my lieutenant, hmm?”

Koori faltered and wriggled in his grasp. But she couldn’t get away and eventually stilled. “Only for a little while—mostly to discuss the blue-headed man.”

“You mean the thing you made up?”

“No.” Her face was turning red; she could feel it. “I didn’t make it up, Master. It’s real and scary and it broke into your room and attacked me, and I don’t know why you refuse to believe me.”

“It’s farfetched, Sweetheart. And it sounds like a poorly-executed escape attempt.”

“It’s not— I’m not—” Koori couldn’t formulate a retort that wasn’t argumentative. “_Fine_, okay_. _I made it up. This was all some sort of a ploy and it failed miserably and I’m scrambling to cover up my lie. I’m going to assume I’ll get a punishment tonight? Something horrid, no doubt.”

“Oh,” he flashed a grin, undeniably coming up with a list of things he could do, “no doubt.”

Koori scoffed and pried Zhao’s fingers off her forearms. Then she crossed her arms and looked away. “Great. Just…great.”

“Hey. Don’t be upset that I foiled your plan.” He pulled up her hood and hooked his fingers under her chin. He tilted it up and licked his lips. Then hers. “Maybe if you apologize, I’ll consider leniency. Mercy.”

She glared at the wall and bit her tongue. Then her expression softened—considerably—and she said, “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again,” she paused and smiled, “_Admiral_.”

He smirked. “Ah. So you heard.”

Unfortunately, yes. She had. And it didn’t make sense because it’d taken him _years _to get promoted to commander, but _weeks _to get admiral—a title that usually took _decades_. And something told her that the Fire Lord had everything to do with his rapid ascension, but she couldn’t outright ask.

So she kept smiling, instead. “Congratulations, Master. Agni continues to shine upon you.”

“Oh, Sweetheart.” Zhao shook his head. “This has nothing to do with silly spirits. _I _did this and only _I _should receive credit. Now,” he paused, clenched her chin, and licked her lips again, “say it correctly this time.”

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

Firebending was rage, anger, and turmoil. It was frustration, desire, and jealousy. It was power within breath and hate through limbs. It was blistering and hungry and sought anything and everything to sate its unquenchable appetite as it blazed blood red all around. And though Uncle’d tried again and again to confuse him with mindless prattle that it _wasn’t _those things, Zuko knew the truth.

It _was_.

He could tell.

Because right now, his flames spread far and wide. Over the deck’s railing and well into the sea. Crimson, pulsating, and embroiled. And if he would’ve meditated—would’ve listened to Uncle’s obviously incorrect advice—he wouldn’t have accomplished such an impressive feat.

And Uncle must’ve noticed his supposedly disastrous disregard, because—

“Is everything okay?” He was on deck, treading slowly and warily. Staring at Zuko’s flames as they fluttered helplessly to their death overboard.

“I’m _fine, _Uncle. Just…fine.” He turned and unleashed another arc, then settled. For now; just for a moment. “Why?”

“Well—” Uncle took a few more steps and got dangerously close. “—it’s been almost an hour since you gave the crew an order.”

“_What?”_ Flames spit behind his teeth. “Do they have a problem with skirting Zhao’s barrier? In case they didn’t hear, we’re_ banned _from Pohuai, and all our leads say that the Avatar’s _within_ its territory.”

“Yes, but—”

_“Whatever._ I don’t care what they do. If they want to leave…_fine, _we’ll leave. It’s not like we have a chance anyway.”

Uncle’s hand sought his shoulder and he squeezed. Hard, but strangely comforting. “Don’t give up hope. You can still find the Avatar before Zhao.”

“_How, _Uncle?” Zuko couldn’t stop the desperation that crept across his face and in his voice. How could Uncle not see how royally screwed they were? Did he need an explanation? A list?

Perhaps.

So Zuko kept going. “With Zhao’s resources, it’s only a matter of time before he captures him.” He turned away and looked at the water, where beyond the horizon was the Fire Nation—his home. And he remembered what was at stake. “My honor, my throne, my country…I’m about to lose them all…”

He glared and furled another flame across the sea. It wasn’t just Pohuai or Zhao that’d made him angry. It was _her, _too. “And it’s bad enough that Zhao openly mocks me, but to see his _slave _do it— _Ugh!” _

Another red spiral burst forth and flickered in the air.

Uncle crept beside him and rested his forearms against the railing. “How did the girl mock you, Nephew? She didn’t say a single word.”

It wasn’t what she’d said—or didn’t say—but what she _did_ that irked him. And he growled, “She smiled at me.”

“Smiled?” Uncle had the audacity to chuckle. “Prince Zuko, if a girl smiles at you, it’s commonplace to smile back, not to do—” He gestured and flicked his wrist, mimicking one of the basic katas Zuko’d performed, sans fire. “—this. Besides,” he continued, “after thirteen years of Zhao’s cruelty, I’m sure that Koori has learned that the best way to stifle anger or aggression…is through kindness.”

Shock.

Zuko felt it pierce his skin and pry into his bones. It settled, then made him shiver. “Thirteen years?”

That girl had been Zhao’s property for thirteen years? Since she’d been a child? Young and innocent and already in a predicament where her future had become undeniably complicated…

Uncle gazed at the sea and didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “The world works in mysterious ways, Nephew. And only _you _can control its destiny.”

Uncle opened his mouth to say more, but Zuko had already walked away. And when he was finally in his ship’s conning tower, he bolted.

Up two flights of stairs and down the hall. Then to his room, where he latched his door.

He vaulted to the floor and dug under his bed. Withdrew a metal box and opened it—rifled through it—and stopped when he finally got to the item he sought.

He stared at it—the oil painting he’d stolen from Zhao’s desk—and nodded.

Zhao’s slave—Koori—was the little girl betwixt the odd couple. And if Uncle was right—as he usually was—she’d been enslaved mere months, weeks, or days after it’d been drawn. And Zuko couldn’t stop staring, until—

_Aroooooo!_

He tore his gaze away and listened to the telltale call of an inland blow horn passing a message to the nearest cruiser. He knew what it meant, and it was nothing good or worth admitting aloud, but he couldn’t ignore it…

Because Zhao had caught the Avatar.

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

The top floor of Pohuai’s tower offered a view unlike any other.

It was tall—taller than any structure she’d ever been in before—and had the most miraculous sight of the ocean, beach, and forest, and she couldn’t stop looking. Couldn’t stop marveling.

She wanted to feel the water against her shins. Clench the sand between her toes. She wanted to touch the puce-green fauna and smell the flowers buried deep within the forest’s thick embrace. She wanted to see animals scatter, hear birds chirp. Listen to the waves crest and crash slightly beyond.

And with everything _right there, _maybe she could…

But deep down, she knew she couldn’t.

So she broke away and sauntered to Zhao. Looked at the map he and Shinu were ogling over, and said, “You’re going after Omashu?”

It was a slip. She knew it, Zhao knew it, Shinu knew it, and they glared at her.

Shinu grumbled, “I thought a respectable officer like yourself would’ve taught your slave to be silent in the presence of others.”

“I have.” Zhao’s eyes were cold. Dead. And she knew he was already formulating a punishment. But then he smirked at her fear-filled gaze and softened his expression. Slightly. “But Koori sometimes forgets her place. Especially when presented with such a…unique strategy, such as the one you’ve laid forth.”

“Impossible.” Shinu kept grumbling. “Slaves aren’t capable of appreciating delicate arts like military maneuvers.”

“And yet,” Zhao said as he drew his hands behind his back, “she does.”

“Well.” Shinu paused, considered, then looked at her. “Yes,” he said. “We’re been planning this assault for weeks. All we need is a few more days, and we’ll have enough troops to overrun Omashu in a sweeping wave of flames.”

“And their king?” Koori couldn’t help but ask. King Bumi had proven himself to be a formidable foe; he was what’d kept Omashu safe for many, many decades after an innumerable amount of attempted assaults.

“We’ll deal with him when we get to him.”

Well _that _wasn’t a good strategy. And Koori couldn’t help herself. _Again. _“_If_, you mean.”

“If?”

She thought it was obvious, but apparently, it wasn’t. “_If _you get to him.”

Shinu looked about ready to push her back with a well-placed whip of fire, but Zhao stepped forward and grabbed her shoulder. Squeezed, then shoved her knees to the floor. He turned. “Perhaps there’s a better strategy available. Might I suggest asking Bumi to step down _nicely_?”

Zhao grinned, and Shinu glared at the blatant jest. “There’s nothing funny about this,” he growled.

“Oh, it’s not a joke, Colonel. Omashu’s king is old. Perhaps he’ll simply crumble the moment your troops enter his city.”

“I very much doubt—”

_Boom!_

“_Admiral Zhao!”_

Everybody turned at the very loud interruption, and stared.

Leo pressed his hands against his knees and took a giant breath. He looked up, expression startled and bursting with whimsy, and nodded. “They have him, sir. The Avatar.” He gaped for breath. “He’s probably already on his way to the holding chamber.”

“Ah!” Zhao smiled. It was terrifying and menacing and far too merciless to be anything but deviously delighted. And he grabbed Koori’s shoulder and left the room with her in tow.

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

Prince Zuko had said that the Avatar was a boy. And Koori’d been expecting a boy, but she hadn’t been expecting him to be so…young.

Twelve, at most.

A child.

Lost and scared and kidnapped whilst performing some other unidentifiable task.

He was wet—practically dripping—and looked worse for wear. And he sported a few bruises and scrapes underneath his Air Nomad clothes that’d been torn while he’d tried to escape the Yuyan’s clutches.

Each of his limbs was chained—Zhao wasn’t going to risk _anything—_and his face was screwed up tight. But his eyes betrayed him. They were panicked. Terrified.

And Koori felt nothing but sorrow for him. Felt nothing but a divine connection to him.

Because at one point or another, she’d been in the exact same situation, albeit much, much younger.

But Zhao didn’t seem to mind his prisoner’s fear or cold-limbed trembles. He clumped through the room with his usual gusto and couldn’t stop smiling that horrific smirk of his. “So this is the great Avatar,” he said, stepping closer and closer with each word. “Master of _all _elements.”

He did not receive the reply he was undoubtedly baiting.

So he circled like a predator scoping its prey. “I don’t know how you’ve managed to elude the Fire Nation for a hundred years, but your little game of hide and seek…is over.”

Still, nothing.

Then the Avatar straightened his shoulders and gleaned the fear off his face. He glared. “I’ve _never _hidden from you! Untie me and I’ll fight you right now!”

“Ahh—no.”

Zhao rounded a bend and stopped. He faced the Avatar head-on and his eyes grew dark. There was something there—anger, joy, malice—and Koori couldn’t place it. Until—

“So how does it feel to be the only airbender left?”

Ah. He’d decided to gloat. To make his child prisoner miserable enough to think he’d been abandoned. Left behind. Forgotten. And Koori knew exactly how that felt. Knew exactly what kind of emptiness those words spurted forth.

But the Avatar didn’t budge. He remained affixed. Unflinching. Then—

“Do you miss your people?”

Hurt shot through the boy’s eyes, and Koori felt pity. For him. For the entire race that’d been slaughtered at the beginning of the Hundred Years’ War. For the people who’d been killed and were _still _suffering betwixt the Fire Nation’s cruel hands.

The Avatar closed his eyes. Fought tears.

“Oh, don’t worry.” Zhao clicked his tongue in three careful tuts. “You won’t be killed like they were.”

Anger. The Avatar’s face scrunched tight with it.

“You see,” Zhao continued like he didn’t even notice, “if you die, you’ll just be reborn, and the Fire Nation will have to begin its search _all over again. _So I’ll keep you alive.” He smirked. “But just barely.”

Koori believed him. He had _years _of practice with her. And he began his stately retreat…

But she lingered behind.

She felt…pain.

It was hard to describe and hard to deal with, and she just wanted to reach out and comfort the young Air Nomad with a warm embrace. Tell him that everything would be okay. Tell him that she was there—that she understood his pain, frustration, and loneliness all too well.

But when he looked up and caught her sullen gaze, his expression morphed from misery to mischief and he inhaled—

And blew—

And Zhao went careening across the room with a _poof _and a _thwang _as his metal armor hit the opposite steel wall.

He scrambled off his hands and knees and turned, irate. “_Blow all the wind you want. Your situation is **futile. **There is no escaping this fortress, and **no one **is coming to rescue you.”_

Hazel sought gold, but didn’t catch it. “Koori!” Gold and hazel locked. “Come!”

They walked out of the hold without another issue while Zhao growled about insolent youths. He mumbled obscene things he had planned for the boy, and Koori couldn’t stop her hand when it reached out and tugged the back of his sash.

He stopped, but he made it extraordinarily clear that he was annoyed.

“You were unnecessarily cruel,” she whispered.

It needed to be said. Needed to be discussed. Because the Avatar—regardless of his supposed godlike abilities and threat to the impending success of the Fire Nation—was just a boy. A child. An airbending, _pacifist _monk.

He probably didn’t even eat _meat. _Probably believed that all life was sacred, no matter its station in life or past misdeeds. That everything should be protected. Loved. _Nurtured. _

Yet the Fire Nation wanted to capture him. Wanted to kill him. Wanted to wipe the floor with him and taunt him while he stood, bound and trembling.

They’d wanted to kill him and his like so bad, that they’d put forth significant effort to decimate four separate homesteads _at the same time. _They’d utilized Sozin’s Comet and set each of the Air Temples ablaze, leaving only a few survivors, which they later hunted like _dogs _until they were gone. Eradicated. Decimated.

It was…genocide.

Regardless of what the books in Zhao’s quarters touted, Koori knew the word. She knew the definition. And the Fire Nation’s actions a hundred years ago had been nothing short of it.

And the Avatar didn’t need to be baited with their sins.

“Did a little piece of that upset you, Sweetheart?”

Yes, yes it did. But Koori couldn’t voice her thoughts aloud, so she nodded and tried to fight the tears that prickled her eyes.

But Zhao didn’t feel pity. He didn’t feel mercy or compassion. Instead, he leaned down and pressed his lips against her ear. Whispered, “Does he remind you of yourself?” and gave her cheek a light peck before he continued down the hall.

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

“_We are the sons and daughters of fire: the **superior **element!”_

Zhao stood outside the tower, delivering a victory speech to troops gathered below. His voice echoed with passion and charisma, and he had even the daftest of men looking up at him with reverence and awe. And Koori could only watch from afar, hidden safely within Pohuai’s confines beside Leo. Because that was where she belonged—hidden from the world. Separated from her betters.

But she liked it that way—right now, at least. And her company was choice. Far more enjoyable than looking up at Zhao’s harsh sneer as he bellowed words overtop a slur of cheers.

“_Until today, only one thing stood in our path to victory—the Avatar! And I’m here to tell you that he’s now my **prisoner**—!”_

“So how was he?” Leo asked as he leaned slightly into her and whispered amidst the raucous applause. “The Avatar, I mean.”

Koori leaned back and thought. “Sad,” she decided. “Sad and unsure. And…small.”

_“This is the year Sozin’s Comet returns to grant us its power—!”_

“Small?” Leo chuckled.

Koori scoffed. “Don’t laugh. He’s like…twelve. A child. And he’s chained up and soaking wet and a little beat up.”

_“This is the year the Fire Nation breaks through the walls of Ba Sing Se—!”_

“He might be small, but he’s still the Avatar: master of all elements.”

“Yeah,” Koori took a breath, “but he doesn’t look like it.”

“He’s still a threat.”

“And we’ve stolen him from the world.”

_“—and burns the city **to the ground**!”_

Leo remained silent for a bit as the roar from below grew deafening. Then he turned and placed his hand on her shoulder. Looked into her eyes and held her tight. “I don’t disagree with you, Sunshine. But don’t you ever say something like that aloud. _Especially _in front of Zhao.”

She didn’t plan on it, and she went to say as much, but Zhao’s victory speech was over and he was treading closer and closer with each moment the cheering lessened.

And when Leo released her, Zhao was _there._

“That was,” Leo paused, “_inspiring, _sir. Very well done.”

Zhao’s smug demeanor grew and grew. “It seemed pandering at times. Like I was selling something people didn’t already believe true.” He scoffed. “And who wouldn’t, really? We’ll see the end of this war by next year, no doubt.”

“Yes, sir. No doubt, indeed.”

Zhao grinned. Then he pointed to a scribe as the poor man shuffled away from the balcony’s entrance. “You.”

The scribe stopped, looked, and pointed to himself with the tip of his fountain pen. “Me?”

Zhao didn’t repeat himself. “Follow me.”

He didn’t say anything about _her _following him, but he didn’t need to. She was supposed to know. And she did…so she did.

She recognized the route—they were going back to the imprisoned Avatar. For what purpose, Koori didn’t know. But she didn’t really need to, because Zhao was saying, “I want a full transcription of my speech sent to the Fire Lord, along with _glowing _testimonials from all the ranking officers present...” as they trekked, which meant that he wanted to gloat.

Or delight in her or his tethered captive’s ever-growing misery.

But everything stopped when Zhao paused, looked left—

Then bolted down the hall and to the cell.

He screeched out a flurry of curses, then sprinted in the opposite direction.

“Sir!” The scribe took itty-bitty footsteps and chased after him. “Should I hold off on sending that speech to the Fire Lord?”

Koori was well behind her running master and spared a moment to see what had riled him so much. And when she turned the corner, she couldn’t help but gape.

Gasp.

Three soldiers hung from the ceiling in various states of disarray. They were tied up—obviously overpowered and ambushed—and muffling screams at her through wads of cloth as their expressions grew more and more panicked and pleading.

She didn’t hesitate.

She got to the nearest man as quick as she could and dug into his breastplate. She withdrew the small, hidden blade that all soldiers were required to keep on their person at all times, and sliced each man down.

_Thunk! _“Ooof!”

_Thunk!_ “Argh!”

_Thunk!_ “Dammit!”

Then they all stood and started screaming at once.

“Blue head—!”

“Fucking _monster!_”

“Avatar—!”

“_He went **that** way!”_

Well. At least they’d confirmed _that_. The blue-headed monster was very real and very much a threat, and he’d already caused some very visceral damage to the Fire Nation by setting the Avatar free.

And when they all looked at her like she had some sort of authority, Koori couldn’t help but shrug. “I guess…go after him?”

They did. None too quietly.

Then—

_BRING-ERING-ERING-ERING!_

Koori clutched her ears and clenched her teeth as the alarm resounded through the hall, shrill and echoing and _everywhere_.

Then Zhao’s voice came out of nowhere and anywhere, crackly but very, very loud. “_The Avatar’s **escaped**! I want every man looking for him! Close all the gates **immediately**!”_

Then all she heard was the alarm and the flurry of feet.

Soldiers appeared out of midair and brushed past her. So she pushed herself against the wall and let them all traipse by. Then she knelt and waited, because she didn’t know Pohuai’s layout, nor where Zhao was. And even in the chaos, she doubted she’d find him—or a way out if she chose to attempt an escape—and knew it was best to stay still. She was lost—left behind—but somebody would be along, shortly. It might take until the madness was over, but Zhao would never forget about her.

Ever.

But she didn’t need to wait long—“Sunshine!”—because Leo rounded the bend and crushed her in a hug.

“Off! Get off!”

Leo let go and she wiggled away.

“Why didn’t you follow Zhao?” he asked. “He’s _very _angry right now, and your sudden absence did _not _help.”

Koori pointed to the ropes still dangling above. “There were men tied up. I cut them down.”

“Ah. Well.” Leo grinned. “That’s good. But somebody else could’ve taken care of that.”

“They were _screaming, _Lieutenant. And Master was so fast, I wouldn’t have been able to keep up, anyway.”

“Yes. Well—” The alarm suddenly cut off and Leo’s gaze darted upwards, then right. “Let’s go.”

He grabbed her hand and sprinted down the hall, and Koori tried her damnedest to keep up, but he was so gosh darn _fast_ and she couldn’t blame him for it since he hadn’t lived or grown up in a twelve-by-twelve box.

But he seemed to notice her struggles and instantly slowed down…

But they were still booking it.

Out of the tower and across the closest training field. Into the wall and across another. Then into the second wall and through its training field, then into the third wall, where Leo dashed up the steps as he dragged her behind.

They stopped at the top and overlooked Pohuai’s expanse.

“What’re we doing here? Shouldn’t you be with Master? Shouldn’t you be locating the Avatar? Shouldn’t you be helping?”

“I _am, _Sunshine.” Leo shuffled left and allowed a foursome of soldiers to pass by.

“How’re you helping from here?”

His gaze swept wide, then settled on her. “Keeping _you _safe is what matters to me right now. And I’ve brought you to the safest spot there is—far, far away from the chaos of the inner walls. Now sit tight. We might be here for a while.”

But that was not the case.

Because high above Pohuai’s innermost wall…was the Avatar.

“There he is!”

And the blue-headed man.

“For the love of—” Leo swore a melody of curses, then looked at her. “Is _that_ your monster?”

Koori nodded and said, “I _told _you!” without breaking her eyes away from the escaping duo.

And Leo cursed. Again.

But Koori didn’t hear him, and frankly, she didn’t care. Because the Avatar and the blue-headed man were getting closer and closer as the gates closed and they _flew_ from the innermost wall to the middle. Then they fell amidst the spears chucked high and fought off men coming at them from all sides.

The Avatar’s airbending was magnificent and practiced and the blue-headed man’s swordplay was beautiful and skilled, but they were quickly getting outmatched—and outmanned—and the Avatar looked around for any sort of help.

Ladders.

He grabbed the bamboo ladders the soldiers were using to circumvent the closed gates and drew the blue-headed man onto his shoulders. They volleyed across the middlemost field as soldiers gaped and gawked below. Then one finally snapped to, and he unleashed a flame and sent it up—

Crisping the ladder to bits.

“They’re _right there_,” Koori whispered as they loomed closer and closer atop their crunching and blackening ladder.

The Avatar screamed, panicked and desperate. “We have to jump!”

And jump—

They did.

They were _right there _as she’d said, but not quite _there _enough, and the Avatar caught hold of the wall, but didn’t have enough of a handhold. But the blue-headed man had a longer reach, and he caught the wall with a very human-sounding, “_Omph,”_ before he, too, started…slipping.

His hand was struggling right at her stomach, and soon, his fingertips were all that was left to grip onto the stone. And Koori couldn’t stop herself as she reached down and clutched his forearm.

They dangled and she pulled, but they were far too heavy combined, and the blue-headed man was grasping far too tight—

Leo screamed, “What’re you _doing?_” and shot a flame across their connection.

Koori let go, shocked and startled, and the Avatar and the blue-headed man plunged down, down, down.

She screamed, fearful that they’d perished from their fall, but she eventually recoiled and covered her mouth the moment she saw they’d recovered.

But they were surrounded. Hope lost.

Yet they refused to submit.

The blue-headed man raised his broadswords to strike—to kill as he’d done a few times already—but found himself pushed back by a few men with spears held aloft and fists ready to char.

Then Zhao’s voice rang. “Hold your fire! The Avatar must be captured _alive_!”

And she knew—and _everybody_ knew—that he’d made a mistake the moment a pair of swords shone bright against the Avatar’s throat.

The boy choked beneath steel, “_Hckk.” _

And Koori watched from above.

They were all _right below _in one of the tensest staring contests she’d ever seen, and she whispered, “He has to let them go.”

And even though Zhao couldn’t hear her, he grit his teeth and said, “Open the gate.”

But Shinu was there. Shinu didn’t understand. “Admiral? What’re you doing?”

“Let them out.” Zhao sneered and growled, “_Now!”_

A chorus of, “Yes, sir!” rang below. A soldier or two didn’t need an explanation, and just _listened._

_Creak!_

The gate opened—

And the blue-headed man dragged the Avatar outside Pohuai’s final barrier while Zhao watched and glared, rooted. Then he glanced skyward—caught her eye, even from so far away—and smirked.

Well. He had a plan. That much was clear.

And he acted on said plan by entering the wall and taking the steps two at a time until he was firmly atop it and standing beside her and Leo. Then he grabbed the Yuyan Archer that had been stationed alongside them as a final defense…and calmed.

The pair were still fleeing below, one cautious step at a time. The blue-headed man’s broadswords never slackened and the Avatar never tried to bolt.

And when they got far enough away—but not too far—Zhao said, “Do you have a clear shot?”

The archer drew back, closed his eye, and aimed.

“Knock out the thief. I’ll deliver him to the Fire Lord along with the Avatar.”

Then—

_Chink!_

The blue-headed man went down, and the Avatar ran.

“Quick!” Zhao turned and screamed, calm gone when dust appeared out of nowhere and blocked his view. “Recover the Avatar!”

Soldiers departed, but it was a lost cause. Koori knew it, Leo knew it, and Zhao—_eventually_—knew it too.

They’d escaped. Fled. Never to be found again, if they were intelligent enough to cover their tracks.

There was silence for a few minutes until the soldiers returned. Then—

“Well.” Shinu sneered and turned, glaring. “_That _was a short-lived victory.”

Zhao glared back, then turned away, thinking, wondering. Then his gaze settled on hers and she flinched backward on instinct. “A blue-headed man…”

“Excuse me?”

Zhao stepped forward and Koori stepped back, into the wall’s waist-high railing. And before he could get too close, Leo stood in front of her and blocked him.

“I didn’t believe her either, Admiral.”

“Excuse me?”

Zhao grumbled and Leo regarded Shinu. “Koori was attacked last night and described a blue-headed assailant. And neither I nor Zhao believed her.”

“So you’re telling me,” Shinu said as he puffed out his chest, “that we could’ve avoided this whole fiasco if you would’ve listened to your _slave_? The one you boasted about since she knew about strategies and maneuvers?” He scoffed. “We wouldn’t be here if we’d upped our security _like you should’ve done.”_

“Hold your tongue, Colonel,” Zhao said.

But Shinu did not. “Get out of my fortress.”

“With _pleasure._” Zhao turned and snarled, “Because thanks to _your _inept soldiers, the Avatar was able to escape.” He paused and straightened. “I’ll be sure to mention your failure to the Fire Lord.”

Shinu’s face burned crimson. “Don’t you _dare _threaten me like that, Zhao.”

Zhao grinned. “Well then. As a gesture of good faith, I want a single Yuyan Archer.”

“What? Why?”

“A squadron of them was able to track and capture the Avatar in a day. I’m sure that a single one will prove very valuable, given time.”

There was a pause as Shinu considered. Then, “_Fine.”_

“Excellent.” Zhao clapped the nearest archer on the back. He had markings across his nose unlike the others—tattooed like a captain, a leader. “This one will do nicely.” Like the archer was an object. Like his wishes, needs, or thoughts didn’t matter.

And Shinu stomped down the stairs.

“Go pack,” Zhao told the archer when Shinu was gone. “You’re coming with me.”

The man nodded and retreated, and Leo stepped forward and took the archer’s spot. “Can I return Koori to the ship, sir?”

Zhao glanced backward and nodded, and Koori and Leo departed without another word.

And when they were finally far enough away, Koori whispered, “He’s upset.”

She knew he was. And knew what her night would entail. And she had a very good feeling it would not be pleasant or peaceful or without a fair number of singes and screams. Perhaps a plead or four, as well.

“He’ll be fine.” Leo tried to sound positive, but his voice shook—he knew, too. But then he forced his shoulders back and steadied his voice. “This was his first _real _attempt to capture Aang. I’m sure he’ll have plenty of opportunities in the coming months.”

“Aang?”

Leo’s steely eyes glimmered. “The Avatar’s name. It’s Aang.” He paused and shrugged. “Zhao may have no interest in the boy behind the title, but I do.”

Koori didn’t know what to say to that, but she settled on, “You’re a very odd man, Lieutenant,” which made him snort.

“I’ve been called _many _things, Sunshine, but _odd_ has never been one of them.”

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

The sun rose across the bay, but all Zuko wanted to do…was sleep.

Uncle’d caught him returning to the ship in the wee hours of the morning. He’d had a smile on his face and a few questions—and a tsungi horn—on his lips, but Zuko didn’t answer a single one and continued to his room with the briefest words.

_Bed, _he’d said. _No disturbances._

But now that he was there and warm and safe, he couldn’t sleep.

All he kept thinking about was the Avatar and his question—_If we knew each other back then, do you think we could’ve been friends, too?—_and Zhao’s slave.

How her hand had wrapped around his forearm and tried to pull as hard as she could. How she’d tried to lift both him and the Avatar to safety or capture—probably the latter considering the lieutenant that was nearby. Then how she’d screamed as she was forced to let go. How her face had filled with abject horror as she watched them plummet nearly thirty feet below.

She didn’t have to help him, didn’t have to offer her hand. _Especially _after what he’d done to her the night before.

But she had.

And now he wondered…why?

Questions kept popping into his head, unpleasant and unwelcome. But Zuko couldn’t swipe them away, so he crawled out of bed and dug through his metal box. He found the picture that was undoubtedly Koori and her odd parents—

And he stared at it for minutes. Then hours.

And as the sun drifted overhead—something he could feel, rather than see—he shuffled around and finally managed to silence his mind’s queries.

Then he glanced right and caught the Fire Nation emblem burn bright in the waning light.

He frowned, then turned.

And finally fell asleep.


	10. The Festival

The sofa was comfortable.

Plush and soft and puckered with buttons every six inches or so, and when Koori’s hand swept against its fabric, it grew dark crimson or pale pink, or pale pink or dark crimson depending on her direction.

It was fun, and she kept playing with it—

“Hmm. Hmm.”

But they weren’t in the Colonial shop to have…fun.

They were there on business—Zhao-related business. And Koori’d been gifted permission to come along, and she wasn’t going to ruin her first true outing in _months _for a bit of velvety fun, so she stopped, adjusted her cloak so her entire body was covered once more, and stared at the platform Zhao was atop, half-dressed yet smug.

He was getting new armor to match his promotion. New armor to display his status.

And he was sparing no expense.

Admirals were allowed gold-flecked designs on their breastplates, and Zhao had picked the most intricate design Koori’d ever seen or heard of—flames of all sorts swirled like an upset ocean, enraptured in a vortex of crimson, yellow, orange…and white—and his choice baffled her, concerned her. Because the smith was outside, pounding away at red-hued steel and seamlessly molding colored gold within, and she could hear him occasionally grumble about the white.

How it didn’t make sense. How—and why—Zhao would choose such an odd pallor.

But Zhao hadn’t offered a response when asked, and instead demanded the smith do his job, and do it well for the gold he was about to receive. So the man had gotten straight to work, but the promise of a hefty sum didn’t quiet his tongue.

Because Koori could still hear him—muffled amid the hammering and molding—and could still see the intrigue in his eyes when he brought the finished piece inside.

Zhao got to see it first.

And it must’ve been beautiful because he flashed a smile at it, then pressed his lips together in a smirk and demanded the smith fasten it on. Immediately.

Then Koori could see it within the mirror’s reflection, and it was every bit as wonderful as she imagined it would be when Zhao’d requested it.

A shimmering tornado of flames, both his and hers. Reds, crimsons, and oranges of power, strength, and force enveloping yellows, cherry reds, and whites of breath, patience, and life. It was captivating—enthralling—and Koori couldn’t stop staring at it. Until—

“Are you pleased, sir?”

“Very much,” Zhao said as he jumped from the podium. “Your skills are as impressive as I was told.”

The smith beamed at the compliment, then rifled through his sum after he’d been paid. Handsomely.

Zhao left. Koori followed.

They drifted down the Colonial street, ambling from ramshackle stall to stall, ignoring the relentless vendors as they screeched about the value and quality of their wares. And though Koori wasn’t allowed to look—wasn’t allowed to raise her head or acknowledge the screaming merchants as their attentions turned from Zhao to her (“Miss! Miss! These pearls—they’re lovely, don’t you think?” “Check out our silks! Straight from the mainland!” “Try a melon—first one’s free!” “Cabbages! Get your cabbages! Best around!”)—she did.

Because it was polite. Because it was normal. Because it was—

Zhao turned and her head shot down, eyes fixated to the worn walkway underfoot.

—against her rules.

Zhao slowed his pace and gestured for her to walk alongside him.

She did, albeit hesitantly. Then—

“Are you enjoying our time outside my quarters?”

Her mouth opened and thoughts tumbled out before she could stop them. “I was hoping for a much better view, but yes.”

Zhao paused. Glared. “What kind of view were you expecting?”

Koori turned and sighed and wished that she’d learn her lesson and control her tongue. But he’d asked, so: “I’d like a view I could actually _see._” She fluffed up her hood. “_Without _this.”

Zhao pinched the bridge of his nose and walked away. “We’ve discussed this,” he growled after she jogged to catch up. “And the answer is still the same—you’re required to wear a cloak at all times. Whenever we’re outside. No exceptions.”

“But—”

“There’s no argument here, Sweetheart. Don’t you remember what happened last time?”

Yes, yes she did.

She’d been fourteen-summers old and unfortunately well-endowed enough to catch the attention of some very unscrupulous eyes that didn’t belong to her owner. And though she’d been innocently tumbling in the grass like the child she wished she could be, somebody’d taken advantage of her.

Bashed a rock against her head. Drug her to the edge of a forest and almost had himself fully exposed and ready to do Agni knew what as she flailed, semi-conscious. Until—

Zhao.

He’d always remained out-of-sight but close by when she’d played, and her assailant didn’t know that. So he’d seen her assault, followed her attacker. And he’d—

Well…she could still hear his screams and feel the heat from Zhao’s flames as fire ripped through the air and destroyed clothes, skin, muscles, and bones when her dreams shifted into a never-ending carousel of nightmares.

Zhao’d been enraged—rightfully so since she _belonged to him_—and she’d been forced to wear a cloak from that day forth. No matter the weather. No matter the temperature. No matter the distraction and attention it undeniably brought her way.

But she wasn’t that little girl anymore. She wasn’t fourteen anymore. And she’d long-stopped believing that she was a child.

“It was only once,” she tried to argue, “and I’m much older now.”

He pointedly looked her up and down, like her age and growth betrayed her rather than emboldened her. “That doesn’t change anything.”

Koori rolled her eyes and Zhao seethed at her very public defiance. “Master,” she said in a rushed whisper, practically pleading, “I must be the most travelled slave in the entire world—” He snorted and nodded, agreeing. “—but I’ve never been given the opportunity to see the mysteries and beauty the earth provides.”

“And?” Zhao’s scowl turned contemplative, which was...good. Odd, but good.

So she continued, “You’ve blessed me with more books and access to knowledge than I can ever thank you for—”

“_Exactly_.”

“But books can only provide descriptions; they can’t give me experiences.”

“You’re too young, Sweetheart. Naïve.”

She clenched her fists and stole a glance around, then nudged her chin left, where a group of girls stood huddled together, giggling and covering their mouths with their hands as they gossiped about the ever-growing crowd. “They’re younger than I am. Less mature, maybe, too.”

“And they’re not _slaves, _Sweetheart.”

Well. _That_ wasn’t helpful. Who else _was _in the village_, _besides her?

So she huffed and considered an alternate argument—something he couldn’t dispute since he’d spent more than a decade beating it into her psyche.

“If anything,” she reasoned, looking at him—eyes slit and somewhat defiant yet playful enough to avoid his wrath, “_they _should be the one wearing cloaks.”

He stopped. Considered. “Explain.”

“_I _know where I belong. With you. Always with you. You’re my owner and caregiver—my most merciful and gracious master.”

He folded his arms across his golden breastplate and smirked. “Keep going.”

“Well. It doesn’t look like they have anybody. Nobody to tell them how to act or how to dress. Nobody to protect them or shower them with knowledge and guidance—”

“I’m sure they have parents…somewhere.”

“I suppose. But…still. They’re alone. Vulnerable. And it doesn’t make sense that _I _have to wear a cloak when we go on a date, but they don’t.”

Zhao’s eyes blew wide. “Who taught you that word?”

“What?” She blinked. Thought. “Date?”

He growled. “Do you even know what it means?”

Well. She _thought _she did. But after Zhao’s reaction, she wondered if Leo’d been lying or wrong when he’d explained it. Or maybe she didn’t truly understand his hasty description.

“When two people go out together?” She was unsure, and let it known in her tone, and Zhao let out a few careful and calculated chuckles as he pulled her close.

“Good guess, Sweetheart. That was a very, very good guess.” He smiled. “But not quite.”

He pulled her tight against his chest and looped his arms around her back. Then he leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “A date is significantly more…”

He didn’t finish and instead breathed against her ear. And she flinched back because his exhale was hot and heavy and sexually-charged, and she couldn’t stop the blush that crept across her nose and cheeks.

They were in public. Surrounded by vendors and patrons and children, and he didn’t usually get so—

Close.

Personal.

_Intimate._

_Especially _when there were so many eyes drifting their way.

She wriggled and failed to escape his clutches_, _then settled and watched him drift backward, still grinning.

“You’re lucky,” he said, voice husky and eyes filled with an intensity he usually reserved for their nighttime escapades. “You’ve put me in a decent mood, and I’m not going to spoil it by telling you that _I _get to decide what you wear and how you wear it at all times, no matter what others say or think. No matter what _you _say or think.” He pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger. Squeezed. Hard. “So I’ll let you have a bit of fun.”

His other hand sought the brim of her hood and pulled it down. “Better?”

Koori smiled and took her first unhindered glance around in years. “Much. Thank you.”

They continued down the street.

“Fire flakes!”

“Sweet dumplings!”

“Local cotton, freshly dyed!”

Sights, sounds, and scents from all directions assaulted her all at once, and Koori lifted her nose and eyes high, taking it all in. And after passing a particularly delicious-smelling stand, her mouth watered. Then her tummy gurgled.

Zhao paused. Chortled. “You’re hungry.”

It was a statement, not a question, but Koori responded anyway, sheepish and half-embarrassed. “I, um, am. Yes.”

“Well, then. Why don’t we continue our _date_, hmm_?_”

He didn’t elaborate. Merely grabbed her elbow and guided her down the street toward a sit-down restaurant, where a host led them to a quiet corner table, away from everybody else.

They sat down across from one another, and Koori stared at it all—the server who’d brought them water, teacups, and a teapot filled with complimentary ginseng tea; the normal (but not to her) bustle of complete families eating noodles and spiced meats whilst surrounded by their loved ones; children gasping and smiling and babbling tall tales to their parents as they stuffed entire handfuls of mother-cooled rice into their mouths, mid-sentence—and she was lost.

“Hmm. Hmm.”

So lost that she almost forgot where she belonged.

She poured her master a cup of ginseng tea—as he’d near-silently requested—and watched as he inhaled the steam, then took a sip.

And after a moment, the server who’d brought them tea and utensils returned and rambled off a series of specials that made her eyebrows quirk high, and Zhao ordered.

For both of them.

“Two portions of roasted turtle-duck with apple dressing.”

The server nodded, “Good choice, sir,” and tossed her a puzzled look as he scurried to the kitchen.

Koori fidgeted, uncomfortable, but tried to hide it by pouring herself a cup of ginseng. She settled the rim against her lips and breathed in the steam like Zhao had, then allowed the smallest sip inside and savored the taste.

Bitter, then licorice. And she let out a soft, “Mmm.”

Zhao smirked and steepled his fingers together underneath his chin.

Koori returned her teacup and pushed an errant strand of black hair behind her ear. “You…” She didn’t want to say it, but it was necessary. _Expected. _“You look very handsome in your new armor.”

Zhao’s smirk grew. “Thank you. My promotion was unexpected, but wholly welcome.”

She felt bile bubble up her throat, but stuffed it down. “You earned it.”

He nodded. “Yes, I did. It’ll certainly help me with the Northern Water Tribe.” He snorted. “And we’ve already seen what it can do with the Avatar.”

“Is there any word on him?”

His hazels narrowed at her question and interest, like she shouldn’t’ve asked. “There’ve been a few rumored sightings since Pohuai, but the Yuyan Archer I sent out to follow Prince Zuko could only confirm one.”

“Really? Where?”

The intensity of his glare increased tenfold, but he answered, nonetheless. “An abbey not too far from here, actually.”

“Are we on our way there?”

“No.” Zhao took a sip of his tea.

“Why not?”

“Because,” he glowered again, “Zuko already confronted him and failed—again.”

“Ah.” Koori shifted slightly underneath his scrutiny. Then she closed her eyes and softly giggled, because she’d do _anything _to try and put him in a better mood. Even laugh for him at the expense of another. “Isn’t it comical to watch the prince fail so miserably while you caught the Avatar on your first official attempt?”

Zhao’s foul expression relaxed considerably. “Yes.” His lips twitched into a rare, hearty and nonthreatening grin. “The prince’s failed endeavors are hilarious—” His scowl returned. “—but I wonder about the Avatar’s thieving cohort.”

Ah. The blue-headed monster that most-definitely existed since hundreds of people had seen him, too.

Koori frowned, then couldn’t help but beam.

Though he’d broken into Zhao’s room and knocked her out, the blue-headed man was the reason she’d been gifted a trip outside—she’d tried to warn her master, but he hadn’t believed her, and their present excursion was his twisted way to reward her truthfulness. Or apologize. She wasn’t sure.

“What’d you call him again?”

Zhao studied her and reached for his cup. Again. He took a swig and swallowed more aggressively than usual. “The mask he wore was from an old Fire Nation play about the _Blue Spirit._”

“A play?” She pressed her elbows against the table and leaned against her clenched fists. She’d never been to a play, and very much doubted she’d ever get the chance since Zhao didn’t appreciate such arts. Though, he seemed knowledgeable enough, so…

He huffed. “It’s about a silly folklore.”

“If it’s based on a Fire Nation tale, how come I’ve never heard about it before?”

“Because you don’t need to be regaled with legends of vigilante justice,” he snapped. “It’s unnecessary and a waste of your time.”

Koori wanted to argue—if anything, she had time in _spades_—but thought it best to remain silent. Then, “Well. Without the help of your _Blue Spirit_, you would’ve succeeded.”

Zhao nodded and they drifted into silence.

And when the quiet grew almost unbearable—

“Please enjoy.” The server deposited their meals and gave a stiff bow.

Koori stared; her mouth watered and her stomach lurched, and when she glanced up and noticed Zhao already consuming his meal, she dug in without a thought or care. Then melted into her cushion as delightful morsels of meat and rice danced across her taste buds.

It’d been a long time since she’d been given such a robust portion, and she wasn’t going to waste it, but when the server returned about midway through her consumption, she couldn’t help but pause.

Because he was…

Lingering.

Zhao’s chopsticks clutched a sizeable swath of turtle-duck and stilled halfway to his mouth, and he glowered. “Is there a problem?”

Koori stole a quick glance.

The server was a boy about her age—maybe a year or two older, at best—and he was nervously wringing the end of his apron. His face blushed pink, then dark red. Then a rapid-fire blurb fled from his lips. “I-was-just-wondering-if-you-were-going-to-the-Fire-Days-Fesitval-tonight.” He took a breath and dropped his apron. Pointed with his thumb, then rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. “It’s a few streets over, and I heard that they’ve got more fireworks than last year. I’m sure it’ll be quite a sight. I mean…if you want to, of course. You know,” he shifted uneasily, “go. With me.”

He was talking to her.

She knew it. He knew it. _Zhao knew it. _And she didn’t know what to do about it.

But Zhao did.

“While I’m humbled at the invitation—” Zhao grinned and Koori twitched at his mocking tone. “—I have to decline.”

“Oh,” the server squeaked, “I was asking—”

“Oh, I know very well who you were asking.”

_That _shut the boy up, and he bowed as his face flushed an even darker red. “My deepest apologies, sir. I assumed she was your daughter, and thought you were spending an afternoon together while off-duty.”

Zhao glared until the boy scampered off. Then he took another bite and chewed, face a map of pure disgust and rage. He was upset. Again. Because of the server’s insolence—the comment about his age, and the fact that he’d tried to talk to _her _outright.

“So.” Koori picked up her chopsticks and tilted her head. Took a bite and waited for Zhao to flick his eyes her way for the briefest moment before continuing. “There’s a festival down the street.”

He snarled. “What’s your point?”

She caught his gaze and tried her damnedest to calm him down. She smiled softly—almost lovingly—then continued, “You mentioned that the Avatar was spotted not too far from here.”

“Yeah? And?”

“Well, he’s a child and festivals are fun—children love fun.”

He stabbed the roasted turtle-duck on his plate. “You think he’s going to wander directly into Fire Nation territory for a bit of amusement? He can’t be _that _stupid.”

Koori shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. But maybe it’s because I want to go—” Her smile grew. “—with you.” She paused. “You know…continue our _date._”

Surprise shot through Zhao’s face, then disappeared as quick as it came. “We don’t have time for silly games or festivals.”

“But you have the afternoon off.”

“As an admiral, I never have a _moment _off.”

Koori sighed and dropped the subject entirely, then returned to her meal, somewhat distracted and confused.

She’d been directly addressed several times during her enslavement, but this time felt…different. And she didn’t know what it meant, and it’d very obviously displeased Zhao to the point where not even a smile and a well-suggested evening together could break through his steel-clad rage, and she couldn’t help but ask—

_Why?_

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

The sun dipped below the horizon, and Koori stood stock still, shifting her gaze from the light-drenched bay to the town bursting with colors, excitement, and a crowd larger than she’d ever seen.

Occasionally, the jeers, cajoles, and claps echoed across the dock, and she crossed her arms and tried to block it all out—

But she was failing, and it was easy to see—

Even more so when Leo crossed the deck and leaned against the railing at her side.

He nudged his chin toward Zhao, who was standing a few steps away and talking to the Yuyan Archer that’d recently returned from his exploit at the abbey. “If Zhao sees you without your hood, he’ll be furious.”

Koori didn’t shift her eyes away from the town’s red-pagoda roofs bedecked with paper lanterns and gold streamers. Her envy and longing was childish and wasted, and she knew she’d never be allowed to go—even though a third of the crew had shore leave, which prevented them from disembarking. So she replied, careful and quiet, “I convinced him to let me keep it down.”

“_Did _you, now?” Leo’s tone shifted from shocked to sarcastic. “How generous of him.”

She didn’t have anything to say to that, and remained silent.

The town erupted in a variety of loud booms. An announcement of sorts—the festival had officially begun.

“I’m surprised he didn’t offer to take you.”

Koori _still _couldn’t look away. “I asked,” she said, whispering and somewhat jealous because Leo _could _go, if he wanted—freedom allowed him such opportunities, “but he refused.”

“So you _do _want to go?”

Of course she did.

It looked entertaining and lively and filled with laughter and life and joy, and she knew she _couldn’t _go, and wanting it only made it _worse. _But she couldn’t stop her expression and words as they betrayed her. “Very much.”

The red roofs glimmered and a bright light burst forth. A flaming dragon flew—chaotic and unbridled—atop a row of prim houses until it careened skyward and disappeared into the clouds. Then it reappeared and plummeted down and burst in a wild cacophony of multicolored sparkles _just _before it vanished beneath the roofline.

It was beautiful and immaculate and a devilishly delightful display of advanced bending, and Koori expected a raucous applause—

“BOOO!”

But the crowd did _not _sound pleased.

Zhao turned, distracted, and asked, “What’s going on?”

Leo and Koori simultaneously shrugged.

“Perhaps a magic trick gone horribly wrong?” Leo said.

Koori wanted to snort, but thought it best to…not. And when soldiers ran down the dock, screaming words that were unintelligible over the din of the town’s massive crowd, she was delighted she didn’t, because the sky erupted in a menagerie of uncoordinated fireworks that practically burst her eardrums, and Zhao leaned over the railing and screamed, “What?!”

The soldiers shouted, but it was to no avail—nobody could hear them as the blasts and cheers grew deafening. And they kept mouthing shrieks until they made it atop the gangway.

“The Avatar’s at the festival! The Avatar’s at the festival!”

But it was _still _hard to hear, and Zhao grabbed one man’s collar and pulled him close.

“The Avatar’s at the festival!”

Zhao let out a sound that wasn’t human—

And _bolted._

“Well.” Leo grabbed her shoulder and led her down the gangway with a smile plastered on his face. “At least you finally get to go to the festival.”

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

Everything was on fire.

The magician’s stage, the vendors’ carts, an entire block of red-polished houses and shops with roofs fully engulfed and sprinkling cracked tiles to the cobblestone streets below. Even the celebratory pillar, which once stood proud and firm, looked charred and dangerously close to collapse…

And Zhao usually liked his surroundings in a red-hued blaze—

But not today.

And _especially_ not after hearing the carefully-worded tale that’d spewed from the constable’s trembling lips.

There was only one important takeaway—

“So the Avatar was here…and you let him _slip away_?”

“Well…” The constable stumbled over his words—as he’d been doing for the last _three _wasted minutes. “Yes. I suppose, sir. But other than that…the festival went off without a hitch.”

_Fufufufu! Crack!_

_BOOM!_

_CRUNCH!_

The pillar finally gave out and crushed a block of houses and shops, which spread more flames throughout the town and prompted screams from onlookers and homeowners who’d remained outside to watch their city square burn.

“No fights…” Why was the constable still talking? Didn’t he realize that his town was burning behind him? “Theft was way down…”

_“I don’t **care **about your local crime rates!_”

Fire surged higher and higher at his wrath, and a nearby building crumpled. Windows shattered.

Zhao took a breath. Calmed—barely. “Which way did they go?”

The constable turned, wide-eyed and shaking. Pointed. “They headed into the forest. Up the river, I suspect.”

Well. At least _that _was somewhat helpful. So Zhao turned to direct the two soldiers who’d been intelligent enough to come get him when they’d realized who’d been at the festival (two men who’d _most definitely _get glowing commendations on their records for their loyalty and competence) and said, “Ready the riverboats. We’re going after the Avatar.”

They nodded. Saluted. Then scurried off, toward the dock.

And while his back was turned, the constable decided to _keep talking._

“I’d like to formally apologize for this disgrace, Admiral.” He paused and waited for Zhao to turn…but he didn’t. “We weren’t aware that the Avatar’d wander willingly into Fire Nation territory.”

“Well.” Zhao squinted. Down the street and half concealed in smoke strolled his lieutenant and slave, smiling and laughing and pointing at the entertainers who were safely performing their acts without the looming threat of engulfing flames. “You _should’ve._”

“Sir?”

Zhao turned. Glared. “The Avatar’s a child and festivals are fun. Children _love _fun.”

The constable winced. Gulped. “Quite right, sir.”

“Now.” He took a breath and tried to calm down—_again—_but couldn’t. “Get out of my sight.”

“Yes, sir.”

The constable and his servicemen fled down the street just as Koori and Leo approached. They looked different as they neared—their smiles were gone and their giggles had quieted. Then—

“So he was here?” Leo said as he gazed at the flames.

“_Obviously. _But we’re too late. He’s gone.”

Leo had the balls to chuckle. Like something was funny. Like the Avatar escaping the Fire Nation’s clutches was _hilarious. _“Just think,” he said as he folded his arms across his chest, still amused, “if you would’ve gone to the festival with Koori, you could’ve caught him and we could already be on our way home.”

Zhao’s gaze landed on his slave, and she backed away.

Well. At least one them had some sense.

“What is she doing here, anyway?”

Leo bristled. “You left her on deck. What was I supposed to do? Leave her behind? _Alone? _Let her run off? _Again?”_ He snorted.

“You could’ve—”

“I’m actually done running away. So you both can stop worrying about that.”

Her voice was barely a whisper, but Zhao caught every word, and he smirked and watched a flicker of…something…pour across Leo’s face before it disappeared. Then his lieutenant snorted once more, raised his hands, and said, “Have fun. I’m going back to the ship,” before he departed.

And as he stalked off, Zhao knew what’d flickered in his expression.

Disappointment. Revulsion.

It’d never been a secret—Leo’s disgust with Koori’s treatment and confinement and her constant inability to flee—but he’d never been so forthright before.

And it must’ve been her confession, her promise that she was officially done trying to escape, that set him off. But he didn’t have time to dwell on Leo’s leniencies because she’d made _so many _similar vows before…

Though, she’d never done so like _that. _So _that _was interesting.

But again—he’d have to think about that later. Because—

“He’s right, you know.” Zhao stepped forward and grabbed his little slave’s forearm. He drew her close and strengthened his hold. “You thought that the Avatar would be attracted to the fun of the festival.” He paused. Glared. “You _knew _he’d be here.”

“No, Master.” She tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but failed no matter which way she twisted. “_Nobody _could’ve predicted such a thing. I was just teasing.”

“Teasing.” He squeezed her arm. Hard. Hard enough to make her cringe and whimper and fill up her pretty little eyes with tears. “How does your _teasing _feel now, hmm?”

Her mouth opened. Barely. She choked on a sob and dug into the back of his hand with her fingernails. “You’re hurting me.” Another sniffle, but it received no mercy. “_Please, _Master.”

Tears pitter-pattered down her cheeks and she released another whimper. He lessened his hold. Slightly.

“You’re lucky I have more important things to do tonight.”

She said nothing to that. Merely looked away, still sputtering. Then, “You shouldn’t pursue him tonight.”

“Excuse me?”

Her gaze slipped to the fire still consuming the town. Her head tilted slightly left, then right. Thinking. Considering. “You should send out the Yuyan Archer first, then go out when you _know_ where he is.”

“And why would I waste time doing that?”

She wiped tears off her chin and cheeks, then patted her face dry with the back of her sleeve. She looked at him, eyes red-rimmed but strangely focused. Determined. “Because it’ll be less risky than sending an entire troop into the forest. The sound of their footsteps alone could scare him off.”

That was…a good point.

And a good idea.

Simple and obvious and so much easier than coordinating an entire group of men with near-silent signals as they trekked through unfamiliar waters, fauna, and terrain.

And he smiled.

“Well, Sweetheart,” he said as he pulled her close and stepped in the direction of his ship, “I think you’ve earned another reward.”

Koori hastened her pace to avoid being drug. Then she looked up at him and couldn’t hide her fear as it crept into her expression and voice. “A-and what’s th-that?”

“You’re coming, too.”


	11. The Deserter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there's a scene that's incredibly difficult to read.

The boat was eerily quiet as it pitter-puttered upriver. Soldiers moved about the wooden deck with duty and purpose, and Koori felt lost and without a decent place to sit or stand as the world shuffled around her. Against her.

She looked up. Glanced between Zhao and Leo as they shot indiscriminate glares between themselves, the crew, and her. Then looked down.

There was…tension.

Lots of it. _Especially _after she and Zhao had returned from the festival and Zhao’d declared that she would be joining their mission.

Zhao and Leo had argued. Loudly. And a few of their meager crew had been unlucky enough to be within earshot, so it made things awkward and uncomfortable as they continued upstream. Because—like her—she was sure the only thing the men could think about were the harsh-sounding and surprisingly childish jabs their commanding officers sent each other’s way—

_“That is a **ridiculous** idea, Zhao. A horrible, terrible—”_

_“I wasn’t aware that **you **were the ranking officer here, Leo.” A pause. A scoff. “And you forgot a title in there somewhere.”_

_A huff. “She doesn’t know **anything **about what we’re about to do. And if the Avatar decides to attack, she’ll be in danger.”_

_“Well. That’s what I have **you **for, correct?”_

_Leo seethed and crossed his arms. “I don’t like this.” He said it like it would change Zhao’s mind. Like he hadn’t said similar sentiments three times prior. “I just want you to know that.”_

_“Noted. Now finish the preparations. We’re disembarking the moment the Yuyan returns.”_

Koori tried not thinking about it, but the longer the silence persisted, the more she did.

_Especially _the piece the crew most certainly _didn’t _hear. When Zhao’d left her in Leo’s care as he conducted one of three final inspections—

_“You could get seriously hurt or **die **out there, Sunshine.” Leo’s words were filled with concern and hate. “And it’s a mistake to bring you along. I don’t know **what **he’s thinking or **why **he’s thinking it, but you should try to convince him otherwise.” He paused and gave her a stern look up and down. “For your own sake, at least.”_

_“I can’t convince him to do anything, Lieutenant.” Leo’s expression shifted into a glare, then it intensified. Tenfold. “I’m sure **you** of all people can understand that.”_

_He harrumphed. “Do you **always **do whatever he says? No matter if it’s good or bad for you?”_

_“That’s not—”_

_He cut her off and walked away. _

She couldn’t get it out of her head. So she tried to look around and distract herself, rather than ruminate on words she didn’t wholeheartedly understand or appreciate. (Why was he so mad, anyway? She didn’t have any say in Zhao’s decisions, even when those decisions directly concerned her. He knew that. So why was he suddenly convinced otherwise, now?)

Her gaze focused ashore, where trees, grass, shrubs, and roots passed and continued, and she knelt down and let her fingertips graze the water’s surface as it lapped against the riverboat in near-silent trickles and tendrils.

It felt peaceful. Calm. Tranquil. Then—

“_Hwuah!”_

A spear hurtled through the air and embedded itself in the controller’s hatch; its shaft wobbled to and fro until it steadied. Then—

More.

One, two, _three _more. All of them in Zhao’s general direction since he stood affixed and firm at the fore of the riverboat, the most exposed and vulnerable.

But exposed—vulnerable—he was _not. _

Because he flicked the spears aside like they were twigs, then set a few more ablaze like they were _nothing. _Annoyances. And as quick as they started, the attacks stopped, and the assailants who’d chucked their weapons disappeared into the forest’s edge, hidden from everybody’s view.

“So the archer was right,” Zhao said in a snarl as he tossed a glimpse in her direction. (Did he just make sure she was alright? Unscathed? That was…odd.) “The Avatar isn’t alone.”

“Apparently not.” Leo trained his gaze on her too, then shifted it elsewhere when she caught his eye. A piece of her _hurt _at that. “You know what this means, then, right?”

“I do.” Zhao wrenched the spear out of the controller’s hatch. He tossed it into the water with a growl and said, “It’s about time I faced my old teacher.”

Koori stared.

_What?_

His old teacher?

Who was—? Zhao had—?

A…teacher?

For _what_? And _why? _And why was he _here_? In the middle of the Earth Kingdom? _With the Avatar?_

Koori wanted to ask such questions aloud, but—

“Prepare to engage.” Zhao withdrew his spyglass, looked, then tucked it away again. “Jeong Jeong and the Avatar’s female companion are up ahead.”

Jeong Jeong? As in _the _Jeong Jeong? As in the man who’d lead campaign after successful campaign across the southern seas, garnering oceanic territory and ranks at a rate no sane person ever expected or imagined? As in the man who’d been promoted to the highest naval echelon a prodigal citizen could obtain—Fleet Admiral? As in the man who’d _abandoned _such a lucrative position for reasons unknown nearly a decade ago?

The Fire Nation’s first defector, traitor—

Deserter.

How did—? Why was—?

The questions were on the tip of her tongue, but—

“Fire!”

The crew lobbed a barrage of fireballs ashore. They struck true, but the hunched figure they were aiming for swept its arms wide and drew flames around and around in a dynamic circle before they petered out. Then the girl the figure’d been protecting ran off, and—

_WHOOSH!_

A wall of fire more than three stories tall burst _across the river’s expanse_, which was ridiculously impressive, and a sheer and masterful display of firebending at its best and most skilled, and—

“Don’t worry, men.” Zhao jumped from the bow and waded through calf-high water. “My old teacher gave up fighting a _long _time ago.” He parted the blazing wall with tented fingers and smirked. “Haven’t you, Master Jeong Jeong?”

_What?_

Koori stumbled over the riverboat’s railing and splashed across the river’s expanse alongside the rest of the crew. She stopped beside Zhao—

And _stared._

At the Fire Nation’s defamed and disgraced Southern Sea Serpent, Admiral Jeong Jeong.

She gulped and couldn’t hide her awe despite the situation.

Zhao’d _always _disapproved (and now she finally understood _why_), but she’d always been fascinated by him. Jeong Jeong’s legends, victories, campaigns, and strategies; they were unprecedented, fantastic, unheard of, and ambitious. His sieges were meticulously planned and well-organized, and they very rarely tallied the ridiculous amounts of casualties many of his other cohorts—Zhao included—usually left in their wake. And she _admired _him for it.

Marveled him for his intellect, gumption, and—Agni, please don’t let Zhao discover her traitorous thoughts—_gonads _for shooting the Fire Nation and Fire Lord an invisible middle finger as he quietly fled the mainland and _disappeared _into the night _for no identifiable reason._

And Koori’d long-imagined what he looked like as she read passage after passage about him. But _this _was not what she envisioned.

Untamed and aged hair. Unkempt and haggard clothes. A weather-worn scowl and a poorly shaved jaw. Sunken-in cheeks and irises wilder than his eyebrows. A double-tailed scar across his right temple and—

Wait a second.

Koori tilted her head and squinted. She tried to think, tried to remember—why did he seem so…_familiar_—but—

“You were once so _great_.” Zhao snorted and swept an arm wide, gesturing. “I can’t believe my former master has become nothing more than a simple _savage._”

Jeong Jeong scoffed, turned, and leveled a gaze that was nothing short of disapproval at his former student. “It is _you _who’s embraced savagery, Zhao.”

Zhao _tch_ed. “It’s _Admiral _Zhao, now.”

Jeong Jeong shrugged. Shifted. “That title won’t help you against the Avatar. Don’t try to fight him. You are no match.”

A chuckle, harsh and guttural. “I think I can handle a _child_.”

“I have—” Jeong Jeong’s eyes flicked across the crew, then settled on her. He stared for a moment, then took a step forward with an unusual expression on his face. He got close—but not close enough, if his grunt had anything to say about it—and recoiled from Zhao’s flaming wisp. He settled and turned his sights back on the true threat standing before him. “I’ve never seen such raw power.”

It was a petty and very personal jab—anybody who had a simple conversation with Zhao knew that he _lived _for power—and it shouldn’t’ve worked…but it did.

Zhao growled. Glared.

_“Jeong Jeong!”_

Everybody turned and regarded the voice—and boy—that barreled across the riverside’s shallow beach.

The Avatar.

Zhao smirked. Said, “We’ll see,” and pointed. “Men, take the deserter.”

They didn’t need to be told twice. They fanned out and surrounded Jeong Jeong with raised hands, ready to engage. Attack. They pressed tighter and tighter together, then—

_WHOOSH!_

Flames circled and spun and pushed them back. Away. They covered their faces from wicked sparks and occasional flares, then—

Everything stopped, and there was _nothing _in the spot where Jeong Jeong’d once stood.

“It’s a trick!” Zhao screamed, red-faced and frustrated. “He’s run off into the woods! _Find him!_”

Soldiers bolted, and Koori remained behind and gawking. But when Zhao turned and grunted, “What’re _you _still doing here?” she gave him a look—he gave her one back that _terrified _her—and gave chase.

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

The soldiers were _fast. _

They’d been running for minutes that felt like _hours, _and with Koori’s poor physical stamina, it felt infinitely worse. She wasn’t going to show it or complain, but…

She fell behind. They pressed on.

But that was…fine. Preferred.

Because nobody would see her double over and clutch the ever-growing stitch at her side.

It _hurt_, and she let out a pained grunt and strengthened her hold. She took a deep series of controlled breaths, leaned against the nearest tree for support, and calmed. Slowly. Then—

“Ouch.” She felt pain—_lots _of it.

But it wasn’t from her—not that she could tell, at least—and had to look around before she located the source. And she narrowed her eyes at it because it didn’t make sense. Wasn’t possible—

Because it was from…the tree.

She reached up and brushed her fingers against a peculiar section of sooty bark. Felt it again—tingles deep within her fingertips that made her tremble and itch—and yelped.

“I can…” It wasn’t possible. Wasn’t a thing she’d ever heard of or experienced before. “I can _feel _its pain.”

It didn’t make sense, but she felt a sense of _longing _the longer she stood beside it. The need for relief, a desperation for healing. Soothing. And when she swiped her hand across the black gash once more and felt the same wave of pain crest and peak within the confines of her flesh, she whispered, “I wonder…” and clenched her fists tight.

She summoned white fire forth and pressed her palm against the bark. She breathed—long and steady—and the tree smoldered and sputtered, then returned to its original brown and greenish mixture.

She smiled, victorious, then—

“You have healing abilities.”

Koori yelped and whirled, alarmed. And standing there—right _there—_was Jeong Jeong with his hands laced behind his back and a semi-startled expression on his face.

He took a step forward. She took a step backward.

“Stop right there.” Her hands flew out, ready for a wickedly impressive offensive maneuver like the ones he’d used time and time again in Zhao’s books—

But none came.

Instead, Jeong Jeong leered. “I saw you behind Zhao.” He stepped closer. “Who’re you?”

“Nobody!” It was too quick and too loud to be remotely truthful, and Koori bumped into the tree she’d just healed as he took another step forward.

“Liar.”

Her hands fidgeted and clenched, and he glanced down. Glared.

“You’re no match for me.”

His words were true—truer than he could ever understand—but Koori didn’t shift out of her ill-formed and self-taught stance. Instead, she looked him over and noticed his casual posture, then said, “Aren’t you going to engage?”

He shook his head. “No.”

His words seemed genuine, and she slid out of her form. But she kept her distance and made sure he stayed comfortably far away. Then, “Why not?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “You said that you could feel its pain.” He glanced at the tree and eyed the spot that’d been blackened and mutilated. “Then you healed it.” A pause. “How? Why?”

Koori rubbed her fingers against the tree’s bark and didn’t feel anymore pinpricks within her flesh—the tree was healthy again. But she couldn’t explain how or why she did it. Just knew that she did, that she could.

White flames poured out of her fingertips to wordlessly explain.

“Who _are _you?” he asked, words careful and slow as he watched fire flicker across her palms.

She turned and extinguished her white blaze. Tilted her head and whispered, “My name’s Koori.”

“Koori.” Jeong Jeong’s eyes blew wide as he repeated her name like he’d heard it before. _Met _her before, which was odd, because she was getting a very uncomfortable feeling that he _had _at one point or another. Which was _impossible_. “Koori.”

It happened before she could retaliate. “What’re you—?”

He grabbed her arm and twisted her around. Threw her to the earth and knelt across her back. He sought both of her wrists and cinched them tight within one of his very large hands, then hauled her onto her feet and shoved her forward.

She kicked backward and screamed, “Lemme go!” But he pressed on like her qualms were nothing. Like _she _was nothing.

_“Koori!”_

Flames shot out of _nowhere _and _everywhere, _and Jeong Jeong tossed her aside to escape the blazing coils hurled his way. Then—

“Lieutenant!”

She flung herself behind Leo and stayed there, hidden and protected. He spared her a glance and asked, “Are you okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“Good.” He turned to Jeong Jeong and glowered. Said, “I know who you are, and that you know _exactly _who she is, but I can’t let you take her.”

Koori couldn’t help herself. “What—?”

“I know you’re a master firebender and that I don’t stand a chance if you decide to attack,” Leo continued, “but I _will _fight for her protection until my dying breath.” He stooped low and spread his arms, ready for anything and everything. “Leave. And if you never come back, we’ll forget we saw you.”

She blinked. “Lieutenant—?”

“So this is her, then?” Jeong Jeong said as his eyes narrowed. He snorted and drew his arms behind his back, then leaned slightly forward like he was having a casual chat. Like his life hadn’t been half-heartedly threatened mere moments ago. “He kept her alive? After all this time?”

Leo’s nod was curt. Abrupt. “Don’t ask me why or how, but he’s grown quite _attached _to her.”

Jeong Jeong took a step. Leo let out a growl, a warning. But that didn’t stop the ex-admiral from peering overtop Leo’s hunched form so he could get a better look.

“Does she know what she is?”

What in Agni’s great graces did _that _mean?

She wanted to ask, but Leo said, “No.” He took a breath and relaxed. Slightly. “And we need to keep it that way.”

Jeong Jeong sniffed and ambled closer, but Leo drew flames to his hands and halted his approach.

“I’ll go,” Jeong Jeong agreed with a nod, eyeing Leo’s fire. “But only if you promise me one thing.”

“What?”

Jeong Jeong chucked something across their gap; Leo barely caught it after he extinguished his flames. Koori saw what it was—something small and circular; a tile or game piece, maybe—and Leo spared it the briefest of glances before Jeong Jeong continued. “Promise me you’ll continue to keep her safe.”

Leo stood up straight and dipped his head. “I can try.”

With that, Jeong Jeong fled.

And when Leo turned, Koori couldn’t help herself. “What on earth was _that _about?” she asked, arms trembling with nerves, adrenaline, intrigue, and fear. “What does he mean, _does she know what she is_? And how does _he_ know about me? Did we meet before? He looks kinda familiar, so we must’ve. Right?”

Leo didn’t answer. Merely snarled and grabbed her forearm. Then he dragged her through the forest’s foliage with more force than usual or necessary, and shoved her into the crook of a tree. He crossed his arms and scowled. “We can’t tell Zhao about this.”

_Why not? _was the only thing she could think, and her expression must’ve said as much because—

“Zhao _can’t _find out this happened. Understood?”

“But Mast—”

“_Can’t know.”_

He’d never snarled at her before, but he was doing it now, and she didn’t know what to do. Nor what to say. But after a great deal of consideration, she nodded and said, “Are you mad at me?”

“Yes,” Leo spat. “Very much.”

“How come?”

He said nothing to that. Just grabbed her arm and dragged her through the fauna once more. She had no choice…

But to follow.

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

Koori ran into the trees like an obedient and terrified slave, and Zhao snarled, “Let’s find out what my old master has taught you, hmm?”

The Avatar floundered for a few steps. As he should’ve. “_You _were Jeong Jeong’s student?”

Zhao chuckled because the boy didn’t know the whole story. How he’d progressed at such an unbelievable rate—hungry for knowledge, thirsty for _more_—until he’d exhausted every teacher the Fire Nation had to offer. Even the great Admiral Jeong Jeong—the nation’s third-best firebending prodigy (behind Fire Lord Azulon and General Iroh, of course)—found himself without purpose after a few short months.

He smirked. “Until I got _bored._”

He slouched and collected red tendrils in his palms; then he sent them flying—

And the Avatar jumped. Dodged.

So Zhao tried again. And again. And again and again and again, to no avail. Then he growled—_“Lucky little bastard.”_—and hurled a fireball that was inescapable. Unavoidable.

But still, the boy blocked it with one of his infernal airbending tricks.

“I see he taught you how to duck and run like a coward,” Zhao coaxed as he squatted and drew his fists close. “But I doubt he showed you what a firebender is _truly _capable of.”

Fire furled from both his fists, then his feet, and _still _the Avatar avoided his blasts. And when he couldn’t contain his rage anymore, he grunted and chucked, and—

“_Woah!” _The Avatar sounded _delighted _with his frustration. _Giddy _at his onslaught. “Wild shot!”

“_I’ll show you **wild**!”_

More flames, deadly and dangerous and growing by the second as they leapt to life and spread all around.

The Avatar had nowhere to run—nowhere left to perform his ridiculous twists and twirls—and looked left, then right, then _disappeared _with a _poof._

Zhao followed his retreat in the sky, then glowered when he landed on his trio of riverboats.

“Stand and fight, Avatar!” he screamed, like it would help. Like it would persuade the boy to inch close or _sit still and attack_—as any _other _combatant would’ve.

“Oh! Were we fighting?” The boy smiled and cajoled as Zhao waded to the middlemost boat. “I thought you were just getting warmed up.”

_Fwooosh!_

More fire…_everywhere. _And Zhao screeched, “I _was.”_

The boy bounced on his tiptoes—the _audacity!_—and Zhao wanted to crisp his skin. Char it black until not even _Koori _could heal it. So he stretched out with malicious intent. Aimed, and—

_Fwooosh!_

Another assault, bold and beautiful and dangerously close to rendering the Avatar in agonizing and everlasting pain—or dead, which was starting to become his preference (rebirth be damned). Then—

“Is that all ya got?” The Avatar smirked, crossed his arms, and tapped his foot, mimicking impatience or boredom—Zhao couldn’t tell. Either way, it was insulting and irritating, and all he wanted to do was _crush him _with a wave of inescapable crimson fire.

_Fwooosh!_

Another miss.

_“Man!_” The boy _whistled_. “They’ll make _anybody _an admiral these days.”

Zhao growled—annoyed and irritated—and finally made it to the boat. He grabbed the railing, hoisted himself overboard, and unleashed another tendril…which the Avatar jumped.

“Ahoy!” The brat clambered to the top of the controller’s hatch and squatted. Shook his backside and grinned like the little abomination he was. “I’m Admiral Zhao!”

_Fufufufufu—fwooosh!_

Flames blazed bright in the sunlit sky until they fell onto the riverboat’s wooden hull…without hitting anything. The Avatar’d avoided the attack—_again_—and bounced to the rightmost boat with another resounding _poof. _

“I don’t know why, but I thought you’d be better than Zuko!”

That was _it!_

_“Hwuah!” _

There was _no way _he could avoid _that_.

But he did.

“Sloppy,” the Avatar taunted with a smirk as he kept bouncing from one foot to the other. “Very sloppy.”

Zhao snarled and climbed across the gap to the rightmost boat. And just as he reached out and _almost _had the Avatar within his grasp, he jumped high—so Agni-cursing high—and landed on the leftmost vessel with the teeniest breeze.

Zhao scrambled across the middlemost craft to get to him, but it took him more time than he cared to admit since it was practically engulfed in flames. Not that it mattered, of course. The Avatar’s capture was worth the destruction and possible capsizing of one measly riverboat. He had two more—_plenty _to get his crew and captives back to his ship.

The Avatar ran. Zhao gave chase. And at the bow of the boat—after unleashing inferno after inferno in each and every direction to prevent him from jumping or side-stepping or avoiding his inevitable capture—the boy was _finally _pinned. Stuck.

Zhao sneered. “Nowhere to run _now_, you little smart-mouth.” He raised his fists, ready to deliver the final blow, but the Avatar crossed his arms and _smiled. _His sudden contentment was aggravating. “What the fuck are you smiling about?”

The boy’s arms were still crossed. He was _still _smiling. “You lost this battle.”

Was he on drugs? Perhaps poisoned? Maybe he had heatstroke and was finally succumbing to his insanity.

“Are you crazy? You haven’t thrown a single blow!”

He said it because it was true. Because after minutes and minutes of fighting, the Avatar had done _nothing_ but jump and twirl and twist. He’d never once engaged. Never once tossed a single wisp of wind in Zhao’s direction.

“No,” the Avatar swept his arms wide, gesturing, “but you have.”

Flames leapt and spread and curled into each of the riverboats. The vessels were melting—wood, metal, plastic, and glass blazing high—and Zhao knew what he’d done. Understood why the Avatar hadn’t gone on the offensive and instead dodged every wayward flame sent his way.

Because he’d tricked Zhao into unknowingly destroying his tiny fleet—

With his own fire.

“You little _menace!_” he screamed as he chucked another bout of fireballs. It didn’t matter if they hit the riverboats; they were already sinking. Hope lost. “You little mother-fucking _bastard._”

_Whoosh! _

The Avatar slipped underneath another wave of bloodthirsty fire, then smiled once more. “Jeong Jeong said you had _no _restraints.” He bounced off the sinking boat and bounded across the river’s shallow beach.

And Zhao stood there…on one of three flaming and crumbling and sinking vessels…

And _screamed._

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

While Leo collected the men still searching for Jeong Jeong, Koori returned to Zhao. But the moment she broke through the forest’s edge and saw the Avatar—who looked her square in the eye and giggled, then shouted, “Have a nice _walk _home!”—she knew something was wrong.

Horribly, disastrously wrong.

She got to the river’s edge and saw nothing but smoke and flames and Zhao kneeling in calf-high water, taking it all in.

“Master.” She approached with caution and nudged his shoulder.

Zhao didn’t respond. He remained rooted and staring, then mumbled something only he could hear over the din of the riverboat’s flaming crackles.

“Master?” Koori knelt—

It was the wrong thing to do.

Zhao grabbed her throat and clenched it tight. He twisted her around like a marionette without strings and pushed her underneath the water’s trickling surface.

He held her there, and Koori _panicked. _

She flailed and hit and scratched and beat, but Zhao was covered from head to toe in armor and didn’t even flinch as she unleashed round after round of desperate and frantic attacks. She could barely see beyond the silted water, but caught hazel eyes glowering down at her—cold and empty, like he wasn’t there. Checked out. And though she kept twisting and thrashing, he kept his hold steady. Unyielding.

She quickly lost whatever meager strength and breath she had left. Then—

Underwater, everything _echoed. _“_Hck-ck-ck!”_

Bubbles burst forth. Water sucked in.

She choked. Started to cry and scramble for a semblance of air as her body seized and fought to function. But Zhao still wouldn’t _let go. _No matter how hard she wriggled, no matter how _still _she started to become_. _Then—

Hands.

They clasped Zhao’s and wrenched him off. Then they were around her—lifting her and dragging her ashore. Trembling, clenching, and bending around her shoulders as they patted her back and held her upright.

Koori stole a breath—

Vomited.

“Good,” Leo said from behind as he kept stroking her back and shoulders; the motion forced more water out, and she wretched and heaved as bile, half-digested food, and milky-white water poured betwixt her lips. It _burned _as it escaped, and all she wanted to do was cry and— “Get it all out.”

She most definitely did. Then drew backward and stilled within Leo’s embrace when Zhao’s boots entered her blurred sight.

“Did you get him?” Zhao asked, voice cold and menacing. Despondent and still far gone. Not himself, but something strangely inhuman and uncaring. A storybook monster made real.

Soulless.

Leo didn’t stop patting her back or rubbing her shoulders. He didn’t even bother to look up until she collapsed against his armored front, exhausted and coughing and red-eyed as tears flowed down her cheeks and into her water-drenched hair. She curled into him as he squeezed her tight. “Jeong Jeong escaped.”

Water droplets clung to her eyelashes and blocked some of her vision, but she didn’t need to see to comprehend the disappointment and rage in Zhao’s face. His tone was enough.

He was _livid._

“You have _failed._”

“And what did _you _do?” Leo snapped. “Succeed?” He snorted and tossed a hand backward, toward the riverboats encased in a fiery and smoky inferno. “Our ships are on _fire, _Zhao. Were you _trying _to kill him?”

Zhao stepped forward and reached down. He yanked her out of Leo’s grasp, and she jerked back at his touch and tried to twist her arm free.

Zhao grunted and strengthened his hold, which made her flail _more _until he grew tired of her escape attempts and tossed her to the ground. He pushed his boot into her back for good measure, rendering her immobile. “If I bring his charred body back to the Fire Lord, I’m sure nobody would mind.”

Leo jumped to his feet. “If that’s really your plan, you should’ve just let the Blue Spirit kill him at Pohuai. The Fire Lord wants him _alive, _Zhao.”

Zhao started to growl some inane response, and Koori couldn’t help it when he shifted more weight into her back as his frustration grew.

She coughed and wheezed and dug her fingernails into the dirt, hopeful that it’d somehow soothe her aching throat, lungs, and spine. And when Zhao clutched her collar and hauled her up, she didn’t have the strength to fight him off anymore.

She stood there, trembling. Gasping. Reaching for the breadth of his breastplate so she could latch onto it and regain the smallest sense of stability.

He surprisingly allowed her that much. Then, “We’ll camp here for tonight in case the men find something. In the meantime, we can search Jeong Jeong’s hideout.”

“Really, Zhao?” Leo said with a snort. “You think Jeong Jeong—famed Southern Sea Serpent and renown statistician—is going to leave behind even the _barest _trace of his plans in a forested hovel?”

“Even the mightiest warrior can make a mistake if he’s ill-prepared. And we _most definitely _caught him off-guard.”

Leo didn’t have another argument and instead stalked off, leaving her and Zhao alone. Koori trembled in his absence—she already missed him.

“So.” Her throat was raw and her voice sounded scratchy. Injured. She pressed her palm against her neck and fingered the black-and-blue markings that were undoubtedly blossoming across her collar. She tried to ignore the mental image of ugly patterns sculpting her otherwise pale skin. “He got away.”

“Don’t remind me.”

She continued, despite his warning. “With his airbending tricks?”

Zhao nodded and snarled, “Smart-mouthed brat.”

Koori kept going. “You’re angry,” she said. Like his attempt on her life wasn’t proof enough. Like the purpling bruises circling her neck didn’t tell a disturbing tale. “Maybe there’s a way to prepare for your next encounter.”

He growled, then grumbled, “What _way_?”

“So far—” She didn’t know why she was telling him this. All things considered, she wanted the Avatar—Leo’d said his name was _Aang_—to go free. But if she could spare herself another episode of today’s terrifyingly near-lethal tantrum, she’d do so. Besides, Aang seemed capable enough to avoid capture. Intelligent enough to out-think and outmaneuver even the brightest minds the Fire Nation had to offer. Youth be damned. “—he’s only relied on one element in battle. Correct?”

Zhao grunted. “Yeah.”

“He probably doesn’t know anything else, then.”

“So?”

“Well.” Koori took a step away from him and didn’t collapse despite her exhaustion. “If you learn more about airbending, you might be able to thwart him during your next skirmish.”

“And _how _do you suggest I suddenly learn airbending, Sweetheart? The Avatar’s the only airbender left.”

She nodded, conceding the point. “He might be the only physical bender left, but there're four temples filled with Air Nomad history, lore, and instructions on air’s mastery.”

Zhao’s eyes widened, understanding. “The Western Air Temple,” he said with a smirk. “It’s the closest one.”


	12. Conversations and Paranoia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first section contains rape. The second section contains character development. The third section is Zhao's POV, so it's its usual fair game. You've been warned.
> 
> (Though, if you've made it this far, I'm sure you're expecting/used to it). 
> 
> Enjoy!

_"Hfffff. Hfffff. Hfffff.”_

_“Mhhh. Mhhh. Mhhh.”_

Koori laid on her side; Zhao was behind her, nose pressed tight against her ear, mouth open beside the base of her jaw so his tongue could trace the black, blue, purple, and yellow bruises along her exposed collar. One of his hands groped her breast while the other firmly clenched her mouth and nose; its position prevented her from gasping—from making the smallest sound—as he sweated, panted—

Thrusted—_“Hfffff. Hfffff. Hfffff.”_

She wheezed—_“Mhhh. Mhhh. Mhhh.”_—and struggled for air as it slipped between the teeny-tiny gaps betwixt his fingers.

_“Hfffff. Hfffff. Hfffff.”_

_“Mhhh. Mhhh. Mhhh.”_

It hurt.

Hurt to breathe or wriggle or fight or cry, and the only thing she could do was lay atop the straw mat inside Jeong Jeong’s abandoned tent and clutch onto Zhao’s bare wrist as he ground deep, deep, _deeper_ into her womanhood from behind.

He plunged and grunted, and each thrust proved more arduously violent than the last. And Koori thought it wouldn’t last long—that he’d exhausted himself from fighting the Avatar, from scouring Jeong Jeong’s encampment, from losing his temper and setting his riverboats ablaze—but her hopes were for naught.

_“Hfffff. Hfffff. Hfffff.”_

_“Mhhh. Mhhh. Mhhh.”_

Seconds turned into minutes. Minutes turned into an hour…

_“Hfffff. Hfffff. Hfffff.”_

_“Mhhh. Mhhh. Mhhh.”_

When it went for this long, she used to slip away. Used to think of other places and try to disappear. Vanish.

She used to get lost in her thoughts and think of forests brimming with flora, of beaches bursting with sand and wily crabs. She used to withdraw into libraries shelved with never-ending texts or a home filled with laughter, long lost. He grunted and rutted and twitched and groaned, and she used to sit inside her own head and hope and pray that he’d grow tired or finish…

But she’d abandoned that practice years ago—

Because all it did was ruin the places she mentally ran to.

_“Hfffff. Hfffff. Hfffff.”_

She'd learned to remain still. Present. _There. _Learned it was better to stay inside Jeong Jeong’s tent—psychologically and physically—as Zhao clamped her mouth and nose and huffed like a buffeting and tireless tornado against her neck. As he licked up her shoulder with a tongue that felt like molten wax and clutched onto her breasts with fire-hardened and sandpapered fingertips.

It was better to feel each individual and vicious prod as it hit against her backside and rocked her hips. It was better to take it, to live it—

Because it was better to ruin where she was…than the places she’d rather be.

_“Hfffff. Hfffff. Hfffff.”_

He’d stolen everything from her.

_“Mhhh. Mhhh. Mhhh.”_

Every person. Every moment. Every secret. Every virtue.

Even her dignity.

He took it all without remorse. Used her without regret.

He didn’t apologize, didn’t coo or coddle. Just used her however he saw fit and locked her away when he was done. Finished.

Even now, when they were exposed and vulnerable and skirting the wooded rim of long-contested Earth Kingdom territory. When she’d mistakenly thought he would control himself since he valued privacy. Discretion. Awareness.

She thought he would leave her alone. Thought the proximity of other men and looming threat of potential attack would keep her safe. Protected.

She’d never felt more wrong.

_“Hfffff. Hfffff. Hfffff.”_

The flimsy canvas lining separating them from the rest of the world didn’t stop his greedy desires. The soldiers standing watch uncomfortably nearby—who could undoubtedly hear their antics overtop the forest’s hooting cat-owls and lookout fire’s crackling blaze—didn’t diminish his rage-hardened erection. The measly zippered seam shielding them from intruders or interlopers didn’t suppress his hot-blooded hands as he untied her tunic and slipped it down her shoulders; as he yanked her leggings and panties below her knees and pushed his girth inside without lubrication or warning.

Koori’d whimpered—

He’d clutched her mouth. Muted her noises.

_“Hfffff. Hfffff. Hfffff.”_

His arms grew slick with sweat. His breath grew heavy and hot and labored against her skin. One hand still kept her face tight—it smelt and felt like sizzling coals—while the other roamed across her chest and down her tummy. Uncomfortable. Unwelcome. Invasive.

His fingertips circled her mounded flesh, then parted her folds and darted inside.

He fondled the nub she wished she didn’t have—

_“Hfffff. Hfffff. Hfffff.”_

She couldn’t help it.

_“Hfffff. Hfffff. Hfffff.”_

She cried.

But it didn’t stop him. Never had and never would.

_“Hfffff. Hfffff. Hfffff.”_

Tears swept across her nose and down her cheek until they _pitter-pattered _onto the straw mat beneath her head. One or two managed to dribble and disappear into the groove of his hand; they fizzled with his heat and steamed against his skin, but he kept going.

Pace steady.

_“Hfffff. Hfffff. Hfffff.”_

It was…it was getting harder to focus. Harder to stay awake. Conscious.

She only had one semi-aware thought: when was her last proper breath?

She couldn’t…

She couldn’t remember, and her focus was drifting in and out. In…and out…

She needed to concentrate on something—_anything—_and tried to focus on Zhao’s panting breaths against her ear. On the feeling of his merciless erection slipping in and out while his too-warm fingertips circled her clit.

It was…it was too much—_a lot _of sensations and emotions she couldn’t balance—and she closed her eyes. Tried to _let go._

But his ministrations proved too difficult to fight. Too difficult to ignore—

Because they were oddly pleasant. Strange and horrible and awful and Agni-damning _pleasurable _as his unwanted caresses sent tingly waves deep inside her core. Then—

She twitched. Wriggled. Writhed within the confines of his arms.

But he didn’t stop as those waves expanded into the depths of her furthest extremities. The sheer force of it made her suck at his coal-scented fingers as she tried to inhale a relieving and necessary breath, but his hold was firm—resolute and unwavering—and she lost consciousness for a moment before his fingers parted. Barely.

_“Hfffff. Hfffff. Hfffff.”_

He grew hotter. Scalding. His thrusts grew frenzied and his hand slipped from her mouth when he jerked backward.

She gasped—“_Huuuaah.”_—and he stifled her intake with his palm, mid-breath. Mid-plunge.

Then kept breathing into her ear, _“Hfffff. Hfffff. Hfffff.” _

Until_—_

_Nononono—_

_No!_

His girth spasmed deep inside her as he grunted—_“Ughhh.” _And she wanted to scream, _tried _to scream beneath his imprisoning hand, as his blistering seed filled her up and spurted out. But she could only get out a soft-sounding and pathetic sob when he pulled out and left her insides boiling. Sweltering.

He kissed her throat, like it would make her feel better. Traced the edge of her ear with his tongue, like she enjoyed his cruel affection. Released her mouth and twisted her about-face, like she deigned to be close to him, embraced by him. Jerked up her panties and leggings and closed her shirt because he was done with her, through with her—satisfied by her. Then he smirked and settled and huskily grunted, “Go to sleep, Sweetheart,” as he closed his eyes and drew her into the crook of his arm.

But she couldn’t.

Didn’t.

Wouldn’t.

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

It was well beyond midnight, but Koori was still awake.

She’d been staring at the canopied ceiling for hours and hours, feeling the sun shift across the world, then disappear to the other side of the planet while Zhao slept beside her.

She was tired, but it was…hard to sleep inside Jeong Jeong’s abandoned tent. She didn’t feel bad or embarrassed, though, because she hadn’t been the only one to face such difficulties…

Even military-hardened, _I-can-sleep-anywhere-because-I-used-to _Zhao’d had a hard time seeking relief and slumbered solace atop their flimsy straw mat after their romp. It’d taken him _forever _to rutch and pine and finally drift asleep, because—regardless of the drivel he touted—he’d long-abandoned the discomfort of a metal-hardened bunk or earthen floor as his promotions afforded him bigger quarters and fluffier beds.

Koori could share his excuse—she’d shared his bed for four years and had grown quite accustomed to such amenities—but couldn’t use it wholeheartedly since one of his many basic punishments was to deny her comfortable luxuries. So she still regularly slept on the floor and was used to the discomfort and firmness of steel or earth against her back, but still…

She couldn’t sleep.

She took a breath. Closed her eyes.

Tried again.

Failed.

Beyond the tent, the lookout fire sputtered and sparked; its flames consumed log after log of pilfered firewood and sent ungodly shadows across the tent’s canvas side and many corners. And every hour—on the hour, she assumed—the identity of the sentry standing watch changed with a sleepily whispered, “Your turn.”

It kept her awake. Allowed her to keep time.

“Your turn.”

She frowned—four o’clock.

“Your turn.”

Five o’clock.

She couldn’t sit still anymore, couldn’t deny the energy that was surging within her veins—one of the hitches of being a firebender; knowing when her element’s almighty source was about to poke its beams across the horizon—and slid out of Zhao’s sleep-weakened grasp.

She fixed her clothes as quickly and quietly as she dared—panties and leggings flattened and straightened; shirtsleeves down and collar pulled tight against her neck; sash tied with a finger-wide bow; rubber-soled shoes slipped snug—and edged toward the tent’s zippered opening. She unzipped it one metal tooth at a time and shimmied out the very instant she could.

Zhao hadn’t noticed, but the sentry’s head popped up when he caught her movement. Then he waved at her with a half-flustered and grumpy, “_Bah_,” after realizing who she was and what she was doing.

She headed for the stream a few paces away; dipped her hands into it and knelt in the shore’s squishy sand. She drew handfuls of water to her face and scrubbed, then leaned back onto her heels and simply stared.

At the moon drifting further and further away. At the briefest glimpse of the sun’s first rays.

It was peaceful and quiet, and it made her happy. Until—

A yawn, voice distorted, “Couldn’t sleep?”

Koori startled and drug a hand across her heart. There was a shadowed silhouette behind her, and it was scrambling closer and closer. Then—

“C’mon, Sunshine—” Leo; she relaxed. “—whatcha doing?” He yawned again and stilled at her side, then gave her an awkward frown.

“I was just watching the sun,” she said.

He trudged across wet sand, bent over, and washed his face. “Why?”

“I wanted to see the sunrise. You know, see all its pretty colors.”

He tilted his head and squinted across the destroyed ruins of their riverboats, half-sunk in the water and baring their view. Then he cast his gaze all around, where trees blocked every remaining inch of sunrise-viewing leisure. “Plan on viewing the sunrise around ten o’clock, huh?”

Koori flushed crimson as he shot her an odd grin. Then he glanced at the tent behind them, where Zhao was still sleeping. Leered. “So what’re you _really _doing out and about? Because I’m sure that when Zhao wakes up—which he will, _soon_—and sees you missing, he’ll demand your hide. Or mine.”

Well. _That _was an alarmingly decent point. And she didn’t have an answer, but opened her mouth anyway.

She closed it when nothing spurted forth. Then, “I guess I better get going.”

“Going?”

“Yeah.” She snorted and raised her hands, palms out. Joked, “Congratulations. You’ve caught me in the midst of another miserable escape attempt.”

Leo didn’t appreciate her poor jest. Instead of chuckling alongside her as she hoped he would, his expression hardened and his tone morphed. Gruff. Tough. Unfriendly and cold. Unlike him to the point it made her worry. “If you truly are,” he said, glaring at her, eyes startlingly empty, “I’m honor-bound to stop you.”

“Well.” Koori didn’t know how to get out of an ill-taken quip because Zhao hadn’t taught her. Nor did he joke and leave those who didn’t laugh _alive, _so… “Then it’s a good thing I’m done with that nonsense.”

It was—somehow, incredibly and frustratingly—the _worst _thing she could’ve said, and she didn’t understand when Leo turned and stalked away, very obviously fuming.

“Wait—” Everything about his posture and gait suggested he’d rather be left alone to ruminate on whatever she’d said to offend him, but she didn’t know any better. And she didn’t like it when he was angry—at _her_, of all people. “Lieutenant—”

“How many times have you even _tried, _hmm?” He stooped low and shielded his mouth with his hand so his words wouldn’t carry, then backtracked two steps and clutched onto her outstretched arm. He pulled her closer and closer until she could feel the heat of his breath against her nose. She wriggled, but he kept her still despite her panicked scrambles.

When he didn't do anything threatening, she settled. Whispered, “What?” She blinked. “Escaping?”

He snarled. “Yeah.”

Koori blinked again. She’d never actually _counted _them before, but did so now, just to appease him. And when she used her fingers on one hand, then the other, then moved back, then did it again…and again…Leo’s eyes blew wide.

“Twenty-eight.”

He hissed, “_Twenty-eight?_ I thought it was fifteen?”

She shrugged, like the other thirteen attempts mattered. None of them did. Truly. They were all failures. Why bother keeping track or distinguishing one paltry endeavor from the other? “He caught me the other thirteen times without getting anybody else involved.”

“Twenty-eight.” He said it like it would change something. Like it meant more than it did. “Spirits, Koori. How far have you actually gotten?”

Again, she’d never really considered, because in the end, the distance she’d covered and the length of time she’d been out didn’t really matter since Zhao _always _caught her. But for Leo’s sake, she digressed. “I never usually made it out of the compound or ship. I got lost a lot, and it’s not like there’s a glowing exit candle at every corner to guide my way out.”

He sputtered, lost for words, while she wriggled out of his grasp. He eventually let go, and she crinkled her nose at him. “Can we not talk about this?”

She didn’t like chattering about her many escape attempts. They were all too-bright reminders of how much of a failure she was and how many near-crippling punishments she’d had to endure. And she hated remembering the emotions and sensations Zhao’s torments usually elicited when she considered another endeavor. The past’s pain lingered and enveloped—as was her master’s intention, she knew—but it never _truly _stopped her from trying again.

Until now.

Leo either didn’t hear her or didn’t care. “Twenty-eight.”

Koori snarled at his far-off expression and threw up her hands, then walked toward the lookout fire and nonexistent guard who’d disappeared to collect the rest of the men while Leo was awake and wandering.

She sat on a stump and grumbled under her breath as flames surged toward her knees.

Leo joined her, but kept a generous foot between them, as was appropriate. “Twenty-eight.”

“You know what—?” She didn’t get to finish because the fire in front of them broiled high, and she choked back a shriek because she’d never gotten angry enough to do that before. And if Zhao found out, she’d find herself chained to a wall like a neglected pet for a month. Maybe two, if he was feeling particularly ruthless.

So she calmed. Quickly. Then, “Is that why you’ve been upset with me?”

Leo lurched backward and caught himself from falling off their stump. He opened his mouth and closed it, then said, “Upset? I haven’t been upset—”

“But you have.” Koori shifted her sight to the embers billowing high, and frowned. “You’ve been short with me,” she said. “You’ve grabbed me a few times and yelled at me.”

“Because Jeong Jeong—”

“You did it before he almost stole me, too.” She looked into the startled void of his grey eyes and flinched. “From the moment I said those words aloud at the festival, you’ve been…different. Cross. Easy to anger. Upset. Is it because I told him I was done running away?”

There was a long silence. Then, “Yes.”

“How come?”

Leo let out the longest breath she’d ever heard. Then he twisted away from her and hunched. Pressed his elbows into his knees and stared into the crackling blaze before them. “It’s…hard to explain. Mutinous, maybe, too.”

Mutinous?

Koori leaned forward and mimicked Leo’s posture. But instead of letting her hands dangle between her knees, she pressed the heels of her palms into her cheeks and rested. “Please tell me,” she all-but begged. “I don’t want whatever _this_—” She gestured between them. “—is, to sour more than it already has.”

He sighed again, long and grating. “I’m sure you’re aware that I dislike your station,” he said.

Koori tilted her head. “I don’t—”

“Slavery is _disgusting_,” he admitted in a rushed whisper, spitting into the fire. “And the people who revel in it—profit from it—deserve red-hot pokers up their asses.”

Well. _That _was interesting. “But—?”

“It’s socially-acceptable abuse,” he continued, shaking with rage. “A practice that’s been around for _decades_, and I can’t do a damn thing about it.” His gaze softened when it caught hers—barely—and he kept going. “And for somebody like _you _to be subjected to it—” His expression curdled again, and he spat once more, but no fluid left his lips. “It’s ludicrous.”

Koori didn’t know what _that _meant, but Leo didn’t give her an opportunity to ask.

“_You _of all people need out of it—out of _here_.” His arm flailed above his head, undoubtedly and confusingly indicating _everywhere_. “And to hear you admit something akin to complacency…after _so many years_…”

An unidentifiable tingle rushed up her back, and she shuddered until it disappeared.

“…it makes me sick. Angry.”

“I don’t—” She fumbled. “I’m not—” She let out a breath. “I’m not _complacent_,” she said. Zhao would certainly agree with her; he always told her how disappointed he was with her. How she always defied him and broke his many rules whenever she could. How she fought against him until he grew frustrated enough to resort to those blasted manacles almost every night. “I’m just…”

Leo was right. This was hard to put it into words. But she tried and failed and tried once more. “I’m just…tired.”

He snorted. “Tired?”

Tired wasn’t the right word. Not at all. But it was quick and open-ended enough to mean anything and everything when she thought about it.

Years of servitude, thousands of lessons _reeducating _her foul behavior, an infinite amount of nights like the one she’d experienced mere hours ago, and so much more…

Tired captured it all.

Tired. And terrified, but Leo didn’t need to know _that_ particular tidbit.

“Tired,” she repeated with a determined nod. “Exhausted, more like.”

“Exhausted.”

Koori looked skyward for a sparrowkeet. Leo’s repetitions were eating into her nerves, whether he knew it or not. “Yeah.”

“I can…” He squirmed a bit. Grimaced. “I can…understand that. But you need to _go._”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t _belong _here, Sunshine.” The blaze before them roared high once more, but it was his fault this time. Not hers. He inhaled and wafted through the smoke that blew toward them.

She coughed amid the haze, but didn’t forget his words. She needed to ask—needed to know. And with Zhao about to wake, she needed to ask _now. _“If you want me gone so bad, why didn’t you let Jeong Jeong take me?”

He snorted, like it was obvious. “I don’t know him. Don’t trust him. And he had a hand in training—” He flung a hand backward, toward the tent where Zhao was. “—_that, _so he’s obviously unstable.”

Fair enough. But, “Why do you care?”

Why did he care about whoever possessed her? Why did he care about her treatment, raising, thoughts and opinions when nobody else certainly did? Why did he care about her attitude, words, and promises? Why did he care about how many times she’d tried to escape? Failed to flee?

He snorted again, like it was obvious. Again. “Why don’t _you_?”

She bit her bottom lip to silence herself.

She did. Genuinely, she did. But she didn’t know how to voice it out loud. Instead, she took a deep breath and looked elsewhere. Anywhere but at him.

The fire felt incredibly warm against her shins and outstretched hands. Warm and inviting and all-encompassing; and those feelings usually made her happy, but right then, she was strangely reminded of one particularly torturous escape. Well. Its duration and aftermath, actually.

“Do you remember my thirteenth summer?”

“Like it was yesterday.”

Of course he did. It was the summer Zhao started chaining her atop his bed. When he’d left her there, screaming and bawling, for hours and days while he _broke _her. It was the summer when Leo’d seen her in more compromising positions than they’d ever dare discuss. And it was when he started examining her and keeping a notebook documenting her many bruises and abuses. And as far as she knew and hoped, he only ever recorded her physical scars; the internal ones and mental ones—especially from that particular year—were far too intimate and personal to properly jot down. Even now.

Even after they’d finally exchanged actual words.

“Well.” She tried to avoid cringing, but failed. Miserably. “Do you remember Senlin?”

“That idiotic village outside Black and White Forest? Yeah. Why? _Oh._”

Ah. Good. So he remembered what had happened. That’d make it easier to explain.

“What of it?”

Maybe not.

“I ran away,” she said in a whisper. Guilt drizzled from every pore on her body; she wanted to blame it on the fire’s ever-increasing temperature, but couldn’t. She’d earned every ounce of shame, punishment, and culpability that’d happened back then. And Zhao liked reminding her about it during evenings when he was unusually soulless. Or when she was uncharacteristically insolent.

“So?” Leo said. “It wasn’t the first time. Wasn’t the last, either.” 

“You asked me how far I’d gotten earlier,” she said. He nodded. “That was the longest amount of time I’ve ever spent away from him and the furthest distance I’ve ever gotten.”

“Three days. Four miles.” Leo clenched his knee. “I remember.”

“Good. So you remember what he did to find me?”

“Yeah.”

She glanced at the trees around them. A scene so familiar it ached if she stared too long.

“He tortured and killed a few of Senlin’s villagers for information, then burned the entire forest to the ground so he could snuff you out. We found you curled up around some ungodly stone bear the villagers prayed to, all sooty and dehydrated and barely alive.”

Koori squeaked at the reminder. Coming from Leo’s mouth hadn’t made the blow any softer. It still hurt to hear. Still hurt to think about. But she needed to, because it was important. Because those people and that forest mattered—maybe not to her directly, but to somebody. Perhaps some_bodies._

“_I _was the cause of those deaths,” she said as she slumped forward and drew her thighs against her chest. “_I _am the reason that forest doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Sunshine—”

“You can’t argue with me about that, Lieutenant. If I hadn’t run away, those people would still be alive. That forest would still bear life. Tell me I’m lying. Call my bluff.”

His lips pressed together. Tight. And Koori grimaced because he couldn’t tell her she was wrong, like she oh-so-desperately wanted.

“I want…” She lowered her voice to a faint murmur. “I want to run away _so badly_, but if those are the consequences I’m akin to face…” A tear formed in her right eye and piddled down her cheek. “…I can’t.”

“Sunshine—”

“Hundreds and thousands of human and animal lives and livelihoods—all wiped out in a single thought and instant. A single slash of enraged fire, intensified and stoked with the desperate need to locate me.”

Leo opened his mouth to say something, but when nothing came out, she continued. “And that was after three measly days. What would he do if I vanished for a week? A month? A year?”

She didn’t need to continue—Leo knew—but did so anyway. To prove a point. “He’d burn the entire world to the ground.”

“You can’t _really _believe that. There’s no way he could.”

“You’re right,” she admitted with a faint nod. “He couldn’t.” She squeezed her legs close and tucked her chin against her knees. “Because I wouldn’t allow it.”

“Koori—”

“I’d give up the moment he threatened to do it again. I’d go back the instant he lit his palm.” She paused. “Because there’s no way I’d be able to live with myself if he caused that much pain and loss and grief on my behalf. Not again. Not ever again.”

“Why now, then? You’ve tried a few times since. These thoughts didn’t deter you before.”

“He did something similar,” she admitted, “the last time I tried, albeit less destructive. He said it was my fault. That _I _made him set the clearing he caught me in ablaze. And…” She didn’t want to keep going, but she was talking to Leo. Leo of all people would understand. Maybe. “And…something feels _different _lately. Like I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

“_Where you’re supposed to be?_” He couldn’t keep the contempt out of his tone if he tried. “If yesterday is _any _indication of where you’re supposed to be, it certainly isn’t _here. _With _him._”

She sent a questioning look his way. “Lieutenant?”

“He almost _killed _you yesterday, Koori. And I heard—” He looked like he was going to throw up. _“—everything _last night." 

She flushed crimson. “Well.” She didn’t know what to say, but settled on, “Since you brought it up, if I went missing for a week or a month or a day, do you think he’d abstain from such acts? Do you think he’d avoid grabbing the nearest woman or girl and treating her like he does me?” She paused and flexed her hand. White fire sizzled underneath her flesh without bursting forth. “I have this odd ability that protects me from his worst abuses, so how long do you think somebody without my curse would last? An hour? Two? Maybe a day? How many girls do you think he’d go through before he found me like he _always _does?”

Leo didn’t say anything. He didn’t even bother to open his mouth.

“You’ve been alongside him longer than me, but you weren’t raised in his quarters and forced to listen to his musings. You weren’t subjected to the brutal reality of his nighttime activities every time we returned to port.”

“He didn’t bring any of them _aboard, _did he?”

Ah. Good. So he knew about Zhao’s many pleasure house trips. He knew about the endless rotation of prostitutes Zhao used to amuse himself with and eventually slaughter when he got bored or irritated. Before he turned his sights on her, of course.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “But he enjoyed reliving his evenings in verbally-abhorrent detail while I scrubbed blood off his boots." She quivered at her memories. "Even though I was six, it wasn’t hard to connect the dots.”

Leo’s face screwed up tight, disgust evident.

Koori continued. “And I know that if I successfully run away, he’d go back to those places and unleash every ounce of his frustrations on whatever unfortunate soul happened to be closest. And those lives—however many there’d be, because you and I _both _know there’d be _several—_would end in vain. And again, I couldn’t live with myself if I found out.”

Leo stood and brushed ashes off his armored shoulders. His revulsion was gone and replaced with something cold and unreadable. And when he drew down to straighten his breastplate, he looked her square in the eye and said, “In all the scenarios you’ve described, Zhao’s alive.”

"Of course he is." Because Zhao would _never _die. People like him lived forever and ever and ever, and she never understood why or how. And when she went to say as much, cajoles hit her ears.

Soldiers appeared and gathered afar; they’d finally woken and taken their first few steps outside as an inseparable unit. Koori and Leo both craned their necks to watch. Then Leo turned back around and glared at the tent Zhao was still holed inside.

“What if he wasn’t?”

_Zipppp!_

Koori whirled to see an enraged Zhao stalk out of his tent, fists practically flaming because of her absence, then turned to softly reply.

But Leo’d already walked away.

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

Something was _different._

Something was different, and Zhao didn’t like it. Couldn’t stand it.

And when he gazed across the table in his personal dining cabin and caught his little slave fidgeting with her meal—something she _never _did during their rare evenings eating together—he growled.

Koori shoveled an entire broccoli sprig into her mouth like she was afraid he was going to rip her plate away. As she should’ve.

She chewed with vulgar tenacity, but her instinctual fear didn’t quell the nagging voice in his head. There was something different about her, and he needed to know _what._

He’d start with a simple question, first. “Is there something on your mind, Sweetheart?”

She paused. Swallowed. Then her pretty-hued irises drifted up and settled on his. She blinked, ever so slightly. “No, Master.”

Hmm. A lie. Interesting and infuriating. She wasn’t _allowed _to lie to him; she knew that. So he put his chopsticks down, steepled his fingers, and glared.

She noticed.

Bit her bottom lip and gulped. “Master, I—”

_Knock. Knock._

Zhao’s eyes flicked to the door. It cracked open. Barely.

“Sir?”

“_What, _Lieutenant?”

Leo’s head poked through; Zhao glowered at it.

Could that man have _worse _timing? Did he have to interrupt and ruin _every moment _he spent with his slave outside his quarters? Leo must’ve reveled in his annoyance—

Because his entire self followed his head.

“Sir.” Leo stepped further inside and stopped short. His gaze settled on Koori for the briefest moment before she caught it and shifted away from him.

Well. _That _was intriguing. Of either of them, Koori never usually shied away from Leo. No matter her condition or position or circumstance. And he’d know, since he'd left her in an interesting number of embarrassing situations over the years for his entertainment and her punishment.

It just made him more and more curious and frustrated, and he needed to know why his slave was suddenly drifting uncharacteristically close. Why she was suddenly so well-behaved and quiet and trembling and practically in his lap as Leo neared.

“Sir, we—”

“Have a seat, Lieutenant.” Zhao gestured to the empty spot at his left side, opposite his slave.

Koori scooted back, folded her arms across her chest, and dipped her head low.

Fascinating.

“Join us.”

Leo shook his head and opened his mouth to reject the invitation. “I have to—”

“I _insist, _Lieutenant.”

Leo couldn’t refuse a direct order, so he sat down with a _thump _and slouched as much as his uniform allowed. He pulled an empty dish close and dumped the smallest spoonful of rice he possibly could onto it. Then he grabbed a set of chopsticks and dug in with startling enthusiasm, pressed to finish as soon as possible so he could flee his present company.

And Zhao was sure it wasn’t _his_ presence the man wanted to avoid.

“So, Koori.” Her ears perked when he said her name, but her eyes didn’t leave her plate. “Did you enjoy our trek upriver?”

She shifted on her heels, stopped hugging her arms close, and curled her fingers around the edge of the table. “Yes and no, Master.”

The truth. Good.

Leo glanced up. Looked back down.

Interesting.

“Elaborate.”

“The opportunity to travel alongside you was thrilling and most-welcome, but our mission ended in failure.”

Failure wasn’t a strong enough word. The mission had been a catastrophe. A disaster. A tragedy made worse with a four-hour walk-of-shame home. But he’d settle for her choice; it was simple and well-deserved, and she’d learn his terminology after accompanying him a few more times.

If she continued to prove herself useful, of course.

“Indeed,” he agreed with a nod. “But there must’ve been _some _highlight since you seem so,” he paused and mulled over the word he wanted, “preoccupied.”

Leo stopped chewing and Koori fidgeted. She refused to look at either of them. Then, “No, Master.”

A lie. _Again. _How rude. When would she learn?

“Well.” He let out an impatient growl. “You’ve certainly taken advantage of my leniency lately.”

Gold finally met hazel. Her eyebrows furrowed as she blinked. “Mast—?”

_SLAM!_

He’d moved quicker than she expected, and she grunted against the tabletop, one arm slung and held behind her back, face smashed tight against her half-eaten meal. She twitched in her broccoli and rice and closed one eye to protect it.

“Zhao!” Leo leapt halfway across the table and grabbed his wrist, but he shoved him back and away. “What the _fuck_? Let’er go!”

“I don't know why you bother _lying_, Sweetheart," he cooed into her ear. "You're not very good at it, and it's child's play to see."

"Zhao—"

"_Admiral."_

"Sir." Leo scrambled forward and placed both of his hands against the floor, palms down. "Sir," he repeated. "Let her go. Please."

"No. Not just yet."

"She hasn't done anything _wrong, _sir. Nothing at all. And I'm certain she doesn't deserve whatever punishment you've decided to inflict."

"Oh. But she _does_, Lieutenant."

"Sir?"

"She's broken one of her most basic rules," he spat. "She's been _talking_. To you. _A **lot**.”_

Leo sputtered, like his excuses meant anything. Like his mindless, half-uttered words were decipherable atop Koori’s sudden and abject _panic _as she tried to lurch backward and failed.

“And I want to know _why_.” He twisted her arm until she mewled; it was a beautiful sound that made his dick spasm, but he couldn’t act on it. Not yet, at least. Leo flinched at her distress, and he made her whimper again_. _Because he could_._

It was music in his ears.

“**_Now._**_”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's query: when Zhao says, "Sweetheart," should it be capitalized? Usually terms of endearment aren't, but I don't know if I'd classify what he calls her as endearing. More mocking. Degrading. Possessive in an off-putting way.
> 
> I don't know if I'd call it a nickname (like Sunshine, which is definitely capitalized), but I'm genuinely curious. And I feel obligated to ask and potentially change the chapters written thus far.


	13. Discoveries

“Just admit it, Uncle,” Zuko said with a grimace as another branch bristled against his face, “we’re lost.”

“We’re not lost, Nephew. Just…” Uncle swept a fern out of their path and continued forward despite an anguished groan from behind. “…taking a small detour.”

Another frustrated noise, but Zuko pressed onward, too. And after a few silent minutes—as the realization that the ship was getting further and further away as they continued into the forest without another member of their crew alongside them—Zuko asked, “So where are we going again?”

“Yu Dao.”

“And what’s at Yu Dao?”

Uncle didn’t stop his unusually spry gait. “I heard a fantastic rumor about a stream just outside one of its neighboring villages. It’s said that its water can rejuvenate old joints.”

“…And?”

Uncle shook an arm to prove some sort of point. “And my joints aren’t as young as they used to be, Nephew.”

He kept flailing and something cracked…somewhere—point made—and Zuko rolled his eyes.

“This is a waste of time, Uncle. Zhao could be out there—_right now—_right on the Avatar’s trail. And yet we’re stuck…” A spider-rat’s web came out of nowhere, and he thrashed to detangle himself from a myriad of dried-out insect carcasses, bloodlessly mummified small animals sucked dry, and sticky threads. “…here.”

“If you didn’t want to come along, why didn’t you stay on the ship?”

“Because I’m not going to let you venture off alone again. Don’t you remember what happened last time?”

Uncle shrugged and placed an index finger against his bottom lip, thoughtful. He either didn’t remember or refused to acknowledge how close he’d been to losing his hands, long-term incarceration, and eventual and most-definite execution.

“You were captured by the Earth Kingdom, Uncle!”

“Oh!” Uncle smiled and kept walking. “A minor inconvenience, Nephew.”

“It wasn’t a _minor inconvenience_.” Zuko couldn’t stop the snarl that escaped his throat. “I saw the Avatar while I was busy tracking you. And instead of pursuing him—following my destiny—I had to help you escape.” He paused to let his words sink in. And when they didn’t, “I could be home by now!”

Uncle waved a hand at him, aloof. “You’ve had _plenty _of chances to capture the Avatar since my unfortunate capture.” Zuko’s mouth opened, ready to rebuke, but Uncle grinned again. “So this little detour we’re taking now means nothing.”

“But—”

Uncle finally stopped, gaze suddenly serious. “Nephew,” he said as he reached out and grasped Zuko’s armored and slouched shoulder. “We know the Avatar is headed north, undoubtedly searching for a waterbending master. And unless you know something I don’t, he’s going as far north as he possibly can—to the Northern Water Tribe. And with our meager crew, we don’t stand a chance invading them or sneaking around. So our best plan of action is to wait the Avatar out.”

They’d gone over their strategy time and time again, and even though it made sense, Zuko never liked it. Still didn’t. “That could take months or years, Uncle. I don’t have that sort of time.”

But Uncle didn’t say anything. Just started walking at an unusually fast speed. Unlike him.

So Zuko kept following. Kept complaining. “We don’t even know what could be out here,” he growled as he flicked yet _another _wayward branch away.

“Yu Dao has been occupied by the Fire Nation for nearly a century. And this land in particular has been under our rule for over a decade. Besides,” Uncle looked left and right, “there’s nothing out here but beautiful landscapes and magical healing water.” He winked. “Trust your uncle.”

Zuko groaned, but Uncle didn’t stop his relentless trek forward. And after twenty minutes, Zuko’s hands felt itchy. He suspected poison or allergies, and neither option was preferable—both were equally upsetting—and he wanted their little voyage to end, and end _soon _since the world felt obligated to constantly remind him how unlucky he was, so…

“Are you sure this is the right way?”

Uncle paused. Glanced. Grimaced. “…No.”

“_What?!”_

“But I’m certain that—_ah ha!”_

An overgrown pathway emerged, grass unkempt and nearly waist-tall with brambles thicker than a full-grown man’s fist. It had ropes on either side that trailed from one tree to the next like an ill-bound fence, guiding their way to whatever their true destination happened to be. And when they followed it, Zuko expected the waters Uncle’d described. What he got, however, was something significantly different.

A village.

A _destroyed _village.

Two neatly stacked rows of houses with their shingled roofs caved in and walls charred and exposing the brittle and blackened framing within. Some homes looked ready to crumble or tumble at the next strong gust. Others stood strangely solid at odd angles, teetering preciously despite their dilapidation.

And when Zuko stepped into the overgrown street, he couldn’t stare at the houses anymore—

Because what lay outside of them was too difficult to ignore.

Bones.

_Piles _of them, and Zuko knew they weren’t animal—

Human.

They were human.

Human and there and so very sun-bleached and _old, _and Zuko didn’t understand how or why Uncle’d brought them _there _of all places—healing water be damned—_especially_ when he’d made such a point of cleaning up such atrocities when they’d visited each of the Air Temples. (The crew’d grumbled behind his back, but he hadn’t cared. All people deserved proper rites, regardless of their nationality.)

“Where…” The scenery was grotesque, but Zuko’s voice was soft, sad, and uncharacteristically appreciative. It wasn’t a secret that he valued life, and the thought of losing so many civilians at one time—Earth Kingdom, Fire Nation, Water Tribe, or whatever—was disheartening. Depressing. And he knew his father disapproved such weaknesses—the evidence was clear enough for the world to see—but he couldn’t give up that folly. Not yet. “Where are we?”

Uncle’d always understood his faults, and he tried to work up a soft smile to lighten the dour mood, but failed. So he looked around, shook his head, and adopted a pensive and practiced expression Zuko knew too well. “Thirteen years ago,” Uncle explained as he took a single step forward, “a young and ambitious lieutenant invaded the coastline of Yu Dao under Fire Lord Azulon’s orders. His official mission was to snuff out the last bit of resistance in this region…and in his quest for success, he destroyed—”

“_Everything.”_

Uncle nodded. “Every woman, man, and child. Every home, crop, and animal.”

“But—” The words were out before Zuko could stop them. “—_why?”_

Uncle didn’t answer. Just pressed forward, down the street.

Zuko scrambled to catch up.

“Uncle.” Uncle’s pace was still strangely harried. Like he was afraid he’d miss something. “Uncle. Slow down. Why’re we here? Where’re the healing waters you wanted? What’re you—?”

He didn’t finish because something else stole the words from lips.

He took a step, confused, then ran after his uncle when the man gave chase.

“Uncle!”

He stopped when Uncle did and looked up, awed.

There was a _shrine _before them, standing out-of-place beside a house that looked peculiarly more charred than its neighbors. And it _baffled _him. Confused him. But Uncle didn’t seem startled or concerned with its presence. Merely pressed a palm against its glimmering side and breathed, eyes closed.

“Uncle?”

“Shhh, Nephew. Take a moment. Look around.”

He did. For a _few _moments. But didn’t get the same solace his uncle most certainly did.

So while Uncle was praying or reminiscing or meditating or doing whatever he was doing, Zuko inspected the shrine.

White marble gleaming with golden flecks that reflected hazy sunlight in all directions. It was smooth and cool to the touch despite the sun’s merciless rays beating down. And when he looked up—then down—he had to take a step back to appreciate the masterful details lining the top, bottom, and front.

At the top, a swirling dragon with its body flying free but its front claws affixed to a pedestal, fangs bared and snarling as it sent a plume of marbled flame below. At the bottom, a monolithic lion-turtle with its shell incased in gold-lined trees, buildings, and fingernail-sized people, one paw raised high with two fingers splayed. And at the front, a fiery bird with its talons spread wide, beak open and pouring a stream of water into a spouted pool.

It was…beautiful. And it was—

“This is Fire Nation,” Zuko said. He touched the edge of the fiery bird’s pool and blinked. “Uncle, why’s this here when it belongs back home?”

Uncle didn’t respond, so Zuko kept looking. Kept questioning.

Then—

An inscription.

_Healing is embracing what you fear._

He stared at it and didn’t understand. “Uncle,” he said even though Uncle remained stoic. “Uncle, did you bring us here for a silly proverb?”

Still, nothing. Then—

Swirly script, almost invisible because of its location below the pool’s lip.

_Born of fire. Healed with fire. Died by fire._

One golden eye blew wide.

Something about those words seemed…familiar, and things were clicking in Zuko’s head. He’d read something similar somewhere, somehow, and he clenched his fists as he tried to remember. Then he pressed a fist against the back of his head and—

The bruise. The slave. The papers he’d found about a child who could heal with fire.

“Zhao,” he whispered, suddenly remembering the contents of the newly-promoted admiral’s locked desk drawer as he’d pillaged the man’s personal files and tossed them aside like the rumored garbage he thought they were.

Uncle finally opened his eyes and looked at him with that knowing gaze he usually reserved for moments when his Pai Sho games got suddenly serious. Or when he knew he was about to win. Handedly.

Zuko turned. Glared. “We’re not here because of magical water, are we, Uncle?”

Uncle’s lips pressed together. Then, “I’m afraid I may have led you astray, Nephew.”

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

Dinner felt like a poorly-ground mash against her cheek. And the longer Zhao pressed her face against it—the harder he pushed her down—the more it squished and squirmed and spread beyond her face and plate, and onto the table.

Koori could see and hear everything despite her hunched position. But when Zhao twisted her arm in a direction it wasn’t meant to go and held it there, she muffled a wail between clenched teeth and let Leo’s pleas and Zhao’s chuckles morph into a muted whisper.

But they were still there, and she tried so very hard to focus.

“Zhao.” Leo scrambled close to the table as she let out a pathetic whine. “Zhao, please.”

Zhao ignored him and clenched harder, which made her moan. And though she non-verbally plead for release, compassion, and understanding, she knew she’d never get them. She’d violated his rules—his most basic and practiced, years’ long-followed rules—and by all accounts, she deserved whatever pain he’d decided to inflict. Even if she could come up with a semi-decent and believable excuse for her misdeeds.

Zhao’s fingernails dug into her forearm. They felt like too-big needles seeking veins and arteries deep within her skin without purchase. And even though they hurt, she fought back a whimper. But he simply adjusted his hand and ripped her backward. Made her screech and scream as he twisted her in whatever direction he saw fit.

“Zhao!” Leo’s words were more panicked and desperate this time. Tone infinitely louder and rushed since it had to compete with her squeals. “Zhao, you’re gonna break her arm!”

Zhao finally looked up, eyes murderous and practically on fire. Enflamed with whatever cruelty he had on his mind, regardless of Leo’s presence, words, or needs. “What of it, Lieutenant?” he spat. “It’s mine to break if I want to. I _own _her.” He paused. “Or did you forget that little tidbit while you were aiding and abetting her rebellion?”

“I wasn’t—” Leo’s expression grew genuinely terrified. “She hasn’t—” He gulped and steadied himself. “She was _attacked, _Zhao! And she needed to tell me about that thief neither of us believed in.”

“That was then. This is _now._”

Zhao pulled her arm backward and forced the rest of her to follow. Koori wasn’t pressed against her dinner anymore. Instead, she hung slightly above it, dropping pieces of smooshed rice whenever they peeled away from her skin.

He noticed. Smirked. “So,” he said, continuing as rice plip-plopped onto the floor and table, “why’re you _still _conversing despite simple instructions otherwise?”

Leo didn’t respond quick enough, and Zhao let it known by twisting her arm over her head, then back. Koori choked back a sob, then let tears flow free.

“Zhao—”

_“Admiral.”_

“Sir,” Leo said as he inched closer, palms still against the floor and expression flickering with terror. “I’ll tell you…everything, sir. Just release her, first. Let her go and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

“Everything?” Zhao couldn’t hide the malicious joy in his tone if he tried.

Leo nodded. “Everything.”

The pressure on her arm disappeared, and Koori careened backward—away from her master—but Zhao grabbed her hair and pulled it—and her—back into a sitting position, facing him. So close to him. Then he seized the napkin at his right hand and dabbed it at her cheek, so very gentle despite his ever-increasing grip on her hair.

When her face was smudged clean, he let her go…but made sure she was still uncomfortably nearby. Just in case he wished to inflict another round of abuse.

“Go on, then,” Zhao snarled when Leo remained resolutely still and quiet. “I don’t have all day.”

Leo’s lips pressed together. Tight. Then he opened them and cringed. “We talk—”

“_Obviously. _That’s the problem, Lieutenant. And I need to know _why_? And what about?”

Leo frowned. Fidgeted. Then he looked Zhao straight in the eyes and said, “I’ve been trying to convince her to run away.”

Silence.

Seconds of it.

Then, “_Excuse me?_”

Leo steadied his fidgets and emboldened his stare. “I’ve been trying to convince her to run away, but she keeps refusing,” he unabashedly said. “_That’s _why we’ve been talking.”

Silence. Again.

Then Zhao pitched forward and grabbed Leo’s collar. He yanked him across the table and held him there, teetering.

“Say it again,” Zhao snarled as too-hot breath filled the room. “Say it again, and you’d better be lying.”

“_Psh_.” Leo swept an arm out and untangled himself from Zhao’s grasp. Then he straightened his collar and stared down his superior. “Why would I lie about that, sir? What would I have to gain?”

Zhao said nothing. Just growled and clenched his fists between Leo’s words.

“I haven’t been successful, of course,” Leo said without breaking his gaze. “But I’ve been trying to get her away from you for _years_.”

Zhao’s growl grew inhumanly loud. Then he sought Koori’s hair and gripped a chunk. He pulled it—and her—close, then positioned her awkwardly across his left knee. She shook as she struggled to remain upright.

“If you’ve been manipulating her for years, why is she acting differently _now _and not then, hmm? What’s changed?”

Leo broke his stare and briefly glanced at her. Then he returned it to Zhao and held steady. “Jeong Jeong saw her.”

Zhao’s grip on her hair considerably tightened, then strangely lessened. “I’m aware. She was standing right behind me when the deserter managed to escape.”

“No, Zhao,” Leo said in a huff. “When she rushed into the woods, he saw her…and he confronted her.”

Hazels were on her, boring into her skull until she looked up and met them.

“_What did you **do**?”_ Zhao asked as his tone and grasp grew merciless.

Koori whimpered and sputtered, and when Zhao ripped her hair to one side then the other, she grit her teeth and miserably muttered, “I…I healed a tree.”

“You healed a tree?”

It was Leo who’d asked. Leo whose words sounded shocked and concerned and delighted and devastated, and Koori couldn’t answer him because Zhao yanked her hair backward.

“And after? What happened after?”

Koori’s eyes filled with tears as she wriggled beneath Zhao’s hold. But he wasn’t in a forgiving or understanding mood, and he twisted her backward until she was in his lap. Then he grabbed her wrist and wound it behind her back. Then made her spine arc until her shoulders sought purchase against his chest.

“Well?”

“_He wanted to take me **away**!_” She couldn’t help but screech the words out. Zhao’s grip was terribly painful and unpleasant, and he only needed to turn her arm a few more centimeters before he broke or dislocated it.

But he didn’t budge; he always knew when to stop. Always seemed to know just how far he could go before he caused irreparable damage.

It made everything so much worse when he kept questioning her. “Who did? Jeong Jeong? Did he see you heal that tree?”

Koori writhed and bemoaned, “Y-yes.”

“And?” Zhao’s hold increased. He was finally at the breaking point. All he needed to do was hold her steady for a few more seconds. Three, maybe four, and her bones would snap.

It got hard to breathe. Hard to focus on anything other than the pain in her arm. So she counted to regain focus. Counted so her body would know when its pain would come to a terrifying apex.

One.

Two—

His grip lessened.

She stole a breath. Answered, “Your lieutenant stopped him.”

His grip disappeared entirely, and she slumped against his chest, exhausted and debilitated. Shaking and sweating. He didn’t seem to mind her proximity or weight against him, so she remained still despite knowing how risky it was to be so close.

“Jeong Jeong has more than enough skill to beat you, Leo,” Zhao said with an odd chuckle. “You must’ve been convincing for him to leave quietly.”

Silence.

And when the quiet grew unbearable, Koori looked up from her position in Zhao’s lap.

Leo was staring, and he didn’t look pleased. Didn’t look happy with how she was slouching into Zhao’s chest and sitting still—like a good little slave. And when he cocked his head left and mumbled, “I promised I’d protect her,” Koori’s entire body rumbled with Zhao’s callous snicker.

“And how’s that working out for you?”

Silence. Again. And this time it was audibly painful.

Then Leo broke it. “I won’t stop."

Koori couldn’t see Zhao’s face, but knew he was smirking. “Is that so?”

“Yes, sir. No matter what you say or do, I won’t stop trying to get her away from you. I won’t stop protecting her. She doesn’t deserve this. Not her. Not _her_ of all people.”

Koori wanted him to continue. Wanted him to explain why _her_, but Leo’s subtle message—whatever it was—seemed to hit Zhao in a peculiar way since he pushed her off his lap and onto the floor. She scrambled until upright, then leaned against the table for support, wide-eyed.

Zhao clasped his hands together. “You do realize that your…_disapproval _of my methods is why I trust you, correct?”

Leo gulped and sent a questioning look across the table. "Sir?"

Zhao picked up his chopsticks and twirled the room-temperature morsels of his meal about his plate. "The best person to care for a slave is somebody who doesn't agree with slavery. Somebody who treats a possession like an actual person, regardless of the owner's wishes."

Silence.

Then, "Sir?"

Zhao rolled his eyes. "Do you think I'd allow somebody into my room who could possibly feel entitled to steal what's rightfully mine? Do you think I'd give just _anybody _a key to my quarters? To have access to my prized possessions? My _slave?"_

Zhao picked up a piece of broccoli and popped it into his mouth. He chewed. Swallowed. "So I trusted the person who I knew _hated _slavery. Hated the mention of it, hated the concept of it, hated the _need _for it—"

"There's no _need _for _owning_ another person—"

"So I chose you. Trusted _you._ And I'm sure you can understand why I trust almost _no one _when it comes to my slave, can't you, Lieutenant?"

Leo spared her a glance, then shakily nodded. "I suppose, sir."

"So here we are. With you disappointing me. Disrespecting me. Trying to convince Koori to _run away __from me." _

The sconces flickered, and Zhao took a calming breath.

It helped. Barely.

"Leo. Leo. Leo," he tutted. "Despite what I say or how I act, I _like _you. I wouldn’t keep you around for so long if I didn’t.” He paused and an odd expression flitted across his face—a smile. “So I won’t punish you too severely for your antics.”

Leo licked his bottom lip and bit the inside of his cheek.

“So I’m going to suggest this,” Zhao said as he took another bite of his dinner. “You’re allotted three weeks of leave per year, and you haven’t taken them yet—”

“Sir—”

“So you’re going to take them now. Immediately and in succession.”

Horror crept into Leo’s eyes. “But I haven’t taken leave independent from you in _years_, sir. I can’t leave—” His gaze shifted to her, and she couldn’t stop the appreciative expression that flicked across her brow since his words were true. When Zhao took his three weeks, Leo did. And the lieutenant oftentimes planned his family vacations so they were somewhat nearby. And though she'd never met Leo's family, she always felt like they were watching. Like they were close. Like _he _was close. “I can’t leave her, sir. Not for that long. Not now.”

Zhao ignored the rebuttal and continued like Leo hadn’t spoken. “I want you to think about your dishonorable decisions, Lieutenant. Think about who owns what and who, and consider your future—your family—as you do it.”

Leo steadied himself and squared his shoulders. “No.”

Zhao snorted. “Excuse me?”

“No,” Leo repeated. He knelt forward and pointed, face reddening with anger and accusations. “The last time I left her alone with you, I found a five year-old girl locked in a closet, starved and about ready to die.”

Koori looked away. Looked anywhere other than at Leo or Zhao.

She settled on her plate and gazed at the granules of face-smooshed rice. She memorized their position, learnt their depth. Then her eyes got teary as she realized what they were—trash, like she’d been and most-definitely still was—and remembered that particular punishment regardless of her distraction. Remembered its cruelty, absurdity, hunger, and thirst.

After so many years, she’d forgotten what she’d done to earn such an abuse, but the memory of that three-by-three room would stay with her for forever and all eternity.

She couldn’t forget how she couldn’t stretch her limbs. Couldn’t forget how nobody unlocked the door, no matter how hard she screamed or pounded or cried. Couldn’t forget how she’d relieved herself in a bucket and licked the rusty walls for the smallest taste of moisture. Couldn't forget how she'd craved even the slimiest mushrooms to sate her ever-increasing hunger.

Couldn’t forget how she’d barely survived…how she’d been about to give up—had _given _up—

Before the door squealed open…

And Leo was there.

Zhao snarled, “That was a _long _time ago.”

“Does it matter?” Leo snapped. “She was _five, _sir.”

“She was a _brat_, and she needed correction.”

“And ten days locked in a closet without food or water was the best idea you could come up with?”

“She earned it, and should’ve been in there longer.”

Leo laughed a nervous and shaky, “_Hah,” _then kept going. “What could a five year-old _child _do to earn a punishment unfit for full-grown prisoners of war?”

Zhao snarled and shot a quick glance in her direction. She purposefully looked elsewhere, and he said, “She was talking to _nobody_. I had every right to do what I did.”

Leo paused. Then he smashed his fists against the tabletop and knelt forward. “She had an _imaginary friend_, sir. _All _children have them. My daughter had one named Kiki until she was six!”

Silence.

Then, “You _knew?_”

Leo stiffened. “Of course I did. Koori’s little friend was named _Yue_. I used to catch her mumbling and playing with her _all the time_.”

Zhao grunted. “You never told me.”

Leo shrugged. “I didn’t think I needed to. Koori was lonely and needed a friend, so she _made _one, as most children do. It was normal—expected—but _clearly _you didn’t know that and severely punished her.”

Zhao turned. Glared. And Koori looked at her fingers, then her plate. Looked at Leo’s clenched fists growing white-knuckled as they squeezed against the table, then followed the length of his arms and up his neck, and looked into his steel-grey eyes and settled there.

Leo’s face was pained, exhausted, and flustered, and she knew why.

He rarely talked about his daughter—he used to, back…before, but stopped during her thirteenth summer because of…reasons—and it looked like even _mentioning _her had taken its toll.

Zhao noticed. He smirked. “The past is the past, Leo. I’ve learned. Grown.” He paused. “And regardless of your disapproval of my methods, they worked. She stopped talking to her _imaginary friend._ And she learned that other things were unacceptable, as children should.”

Leo’s bottom lip curled like he was about to say something, but he didn’t get a chance to open his mouth.

“So,” Zhao said. “Now that your little tantrum is over and I’ve proven myself more capable as Koori’s matured…” He took another bite of his most-certainly cold dinner and swallowed, disgust evident. “You can go. Preferably now, before my patience wears too thin.”

Leo’s jaw clenched tight. Then, “Yes, sir.”

He stood and readied himself to leave, but the moment he took a step, Zhao hummed.

“Actually,” Zhao said with a cryptic smile. “I think you owe me penance for such a nasty argument.” He sighed. “I was going to let you go free, but bringing up old punishments, making my little slave _remember _things best forgotten…I want you to do something.”

Leo glared. “What do you want, sir?”

Zhao’s smile grew monstrous. Filled with a cruel enjoyment only he appreciated. “I want you to burn her.”

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

“I don’t—”

Uncle bypassed him and dipped his hands in the fiery bird’s overflowing pool. He kept them there and smiled.

“I don’t understand, Uncle. Why’d you bring us here?”

“Prince Zuko.” Uncle’s fingers dripped as he pulled them across the water’s rippling surface. Then he brought them to his face and swiped the remnants across his nose, cheeks, mouth, and goatee. “Your thoughts are clouded with hatred, and until you learn to let go, I cannot tell you more.”

Zuko snorted. “Hatred? I’m just _confused, _Uncle. Confused and frustrated and—” He pointed at the shrine’s topmost inscription. “—and your proverbs don’t _help_ me, Uncle.”

Uncle didn’t say anything. Just shook his head and ambled away while Zuko watched, rooted. Uncle made it to the house beside the shrine—the one that’d encountered all the village’s many abuses—and bowed. Then kept going, back to the forest and ship.

Zuko watched him disappear into the trees, then started after him.

But something about that nearly-decimated house seemed strange, so he stepped onto its shabby porch, clutched the nearly-gone railing, and glared at its blown-open door. Then glared at the house beside it. Then the house beside _that _one.

Why was _this_ house—one of _many _that lined the dirt-plowed street—so violated? Had it been Zhao’s first target? Had he destroyed it with the intent of mercilessly eradicating whoever lived within? Had he been successful? Had he failed? And if he’d failed or succeeded, how and why was it still standing after such a violent assault?

And—most importantly—why had it been targeted in the first place?

Zuko didn’t know and wanted to find out, so he entered, one careful step at a time. And when the structure proved strangely sturdy, he searched it. Ferociously.

Moldy pots, pans, dishes, and animal-nibbled towels. Sun-drenched sheets and a closet with scraps of red and blue cloth. A bed—_two _beds. And a floorboard that creaked—

Lifted.

Huh.

Zuko’s fingernails dug into the edge and pried it up. Then he stuck an arm into the dark pit below and felt left, then right. And when nothing attacked him, poked him, or reared its ugly head, he growled.

In all the storybooks he used to read, lifted floorboards meant secrets. But this one didn’t have a hidden map or key or box of treasures—or a stack of locked-away papers detailing children with unrealistic abilities—and Zuko huffed and lit his palm, just to make sure.

_Poof._

One eye widened, then his other hand barreled beneath the floorboards. And when he pulled his arms out, he stared. Perplexed. Then brought what he’d found closer to his good eye and squinted.

A…necklace, maybe?

Yes. Definitely.

Its cloth choker had deteriorated from age and neglect, but the polished piece in the center stood out, gleaming despite a fine coating of dust and debris. And when Zuko smeared it clean with his thumb and forefinger, he stared at the odd pattern for a long while, unsure why it seemed so familiar even though he’d never seen it before.

Fire.

Water.

Both elements on two separate and outer orbs that came together in a jeweled haze on the middle-most orb.

It looked strange and unnatural, and the longer he stared at it, the more familiar it looked…

But he couldn’t worry about it, because Uncle was undoubtedly halfway back to the ship, and he needed to go—and go _now—_if he didn’t want to get left behind. So he pocketed the pendant and dashed out.

Then ran down the street and met up with his uncle, panting.

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

Leo reeled. “Excuse me?”

Zhao stood and pulled Koori onto her feet. He shoved her at Leo and demanded, “Burn. Her.”

Leo caught and released her onto the floor. Gently. “Ab-absolutely _not!_” he protested.

Zhao took a step and got uncomfortably close. “Refusing a direct order from a superior officer will get you a court martial, Lieutenant. Would you like to return home disgraced and without a job?” He smirked as Leo fidgeted. “I’m sure your wife and daughter wouldn’t appreciate your weakness when they’re living on the streets with the rest of the vagabonds and traitors.”

“Zhao—”

“For the _last time, _it’s _Admiral _to you, Leo.”

“Sir,” Leo said. “I can’t— I won’t—”

“You know what she can do. It won’t leave a lasting mark.”

Leo shook his head. “Of course I know what Koori can do. I’ve known for _years. _But—” He shot her a pathetic glance and closed his eyes. Opened them and glared with more intensity than Koori’d ever seen him use. “But she can still feel _pain, _sir. What you’re asking for is torture. Both for her and me.”

Zhao smiled and purred, “I consider it to be more of a…lesson.” He waved a hand. “You have three seconds, Leo. Burn her or get out. Forever.”

Leo did nothing. Didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t breathe.

Zhao’s smile morphed into a glower. “One,” he said. “Two—”

_“AH!”_

Koori didn’t think he’d do it, but when fire’d poured out of Leo’s fingertips and barreled down, she hadn’t been fast enough to block it. Hadn’t even been fast enough to properly react. Just screamed and clenched and fought against tears as Leo knelt down and tried to apologize.

“I’m sorry, Koori.” His words meant nothing and were drowned out with snivels. “I’m s-sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Leo scrambled forward and tried to help as best he could, but Koori kicked at him until he retreated without qualm. Then he turned his attention to Zhao and said, “Guarantee me she’ll be safe in your care. Guarantee me you won’t hurt her.”

“Guarantee you that _I_ won’t hurt her?” Zhao chuckled. “That seems almost laughable since _you’re _the reason she’s in pain right now.”

Leo snarled despite Zhao’s crude chortles. “Where’re you going? What’re you going to do? Tell me and I’ll go. Now. Right now.”

Zhao rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t worry, Lieutenant. Koori and I are taking a little trip to the Western Air Temple to learn about airbending.”

“Airbending? Why—?” He stopped. “The Avatar?”

Zhao nodded. “I won’t allow that brat to elude me a _third _time.” He paused. “Now, I believe you have a promise to keep. Three weeks to go visit that _precious _family of yours.”

Leo huffed and saluted. He gave Koori one last piteous glance and left with a, “Yes, sir.”

The door slammed shut, and for the first time in a long while, Koori felt betrayed…

And utterly alone.


End file.
